


Healer's Embrace

by aka_pine_writer



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Healing, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aka_pine_writer/pseuds/aka_pine_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hawke's betrayal, Fenris' heart broke, and he left without a struggle.</p>
<p>After Fenris was sent away, Anders lost himself in Vengeance, determined to carry out what needed to be done, never minding the cost. </p>
<p>Fenris went with Danarius without a struggle, and after months of the magister trying to bring out his old spirit, bleakly allows his markings to be permanently removed, leaving him feverish and scarred. Left for dead in a forest, he is found by an unlikely ally.</p>
<p>This is not the story of a lyrium embedded elf or a possessed mage. This is the story of two scarred men finding each other, learning, healing, and slowly, coming to love what would have once been impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _This was originally a request on the kink meme, and follows as thus:_
> 
> _"Hawke (either gender) had friendmanced Fenris to 100% and then, out of the blue, gave him to Danarius without a moment's pause. Anders (who had been in love with Fenris even then, although the elf neither knew nor loved him back at the time) became more and more possessed by Vengeance, and then went and blew up the Chantry. Then he fled to Tevinter, where he found a way to separate himself from the spirit, and there he has been hiding for a few years. He tried to find Fenris but he couldn't... until now._
> 
> _When he got Fenris back, Danarius inflicted the most horrible punishment possible: he removed all the lyrium from Fenris' body, to give it to someone more docile, in a way that left ugly gaping scars all over his body, and then he sold him for a pittance because he wasn't worth much anyway, but made sure he kept all his memories. The emotional pain from Hawke's betrayal, the physical pain from the procedure and the sense of being worthless have all contributed to completely break Fenris. Anders finally finds him and buys him just so he can release him, but the elf doesn't even have the drive to be free anymore. Would love to see Anders nursing Fenris to health (mental and physical, though the lyrium scars can't be healed) and Fenris falling in love with the apostate but thinking himself unworthy, while Anders is still convinced the elf could never feel anything for a mage._
> 
> _Anon imagines this going from the deepest angst-filled pits to gentle meaningful romance with an undertone of healing throughout, and pictures that without lyrium and Vengeance they're both just humans, with no excuses for whatever choices they decide to make._
> 
> _Anon humbly requests a happy ending."_
> 
> _For the most part, I have followed the prompt to the letter. This story is long- I started this in summer 2011, and now, one year later, I'm still not finished._
> 
> _If you are sensitive to violence, torture, any degree of depression, sexual situations of all sorts (F/M, M/M) then this story might not be for you. The torture scenes are not as graphic as some others I've read, but I'm putting the warning up just in case._
> 
> _If you don't mind violence and various other elements, then please continue reading._

He had learned to trust. It had been a slow, torturous lesson, but he had learned it. And it was all thanks to that one woman, the one who had always helped him, had always believed in him, and had always lent her ear when Fenris needed to vent.

Hawke was indeed a woman of destiny. Not even Varric could truly tell a tale that would showcase even a speck of the true heroic, just actions of the woman. Slavers cowered in their beds, blood mages fled from her, and even the Qunari would pause before attempting to deal with this female. Savior of would-be slaves everywhere, and occasional collector of torn trousers, Hawke was the heroic idea to the letter.

This woman…this was the one who loved him, if not in words than in her actions, certainly. Though they were not officially together, Fenris wore her red scarf on his wrist, and the crest of Hawke’s house, proudly. This was a woman that the former slave not only respected, but adored in his own quiet way. They needed no words to understand each other; she read him just as easily as he read her.

Which made it all the more confusing and distressing when Hawke handed Fenris back over to Danarius without a thought or comment.

“Hawke?”

The woman was ignoring him, instead offering his former master a smile.

“Hawke…if I’ve done something to upset you, please tell me. There’s no need for this,” Fenris begged quietly. The Abomination was there with them, the only companion that was free that day to tag along. 

Surprisingly, he was silent, eyes wide as he stared at Hawke. No snide remarks, no carping on about anyone’s freedoms, just silence and what looked like disbelief in his eyes. His dream was probably coming true, Fenris thought bitterly. The mage-hater of the group would be gone, and he would have Hawke all to himself…

“Hawke! Please…I need you.”

Fenris, at that moment, realized that he did indeed have a true heart, full of unvoiced emotion and fears, and right at that moment, it was in danger of falling apart under such frantic beating.

“Enjoy your property, Danarius. I certainly did.”

Fenris heard no more after that, so loud was the sound of his world, his heart, breaking.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Anders had first been shocked, then elated when Fenris had been given back to Danarius. The bane of his existence, a terror to any mage anywhere, was out of the picture. Fenris had always been bad tempered, had always refused to listen to the reasons why mages should be free, and had annoyingly followed Hawke (the woman Anders had spent years aching for) around like an adoring, blood thirsty puppy. Honestly, Fenris was more of an abomination than he was: he ripped peoples’ hearts out at the behest of no demon, to quote the hypocritical bastard himself.

And yet, here he was, losing sleep over the prickly elf.

_**Anders.** _

“Justice,” the mage greeted aloud. They were along in the clinic, the door barred, so he stood little chance of receiving odd looks for talking to himself. 

“Odd that you’re talking to me. This hasn’t happened in a while.”

_**It is because we are both at odds with the current situation.** _

“Oh? And what situation would that be?”

_**The Singing Elf. You claim happiness at his return to slavery, but it is an unjust thing; Fenris has been loyal to not only his bedmate, but to you as well. Loyalty punished with such a crime is wrong, and must be righted at any cost.** _

Odd. Justice and he had been intertwined, for the most part, ever since they joined together. And ever since then, Justice had been demanding retribution for the mages more and more. Yet Anders couldn’t fail to notice that around the elf, Justice seemed…tempered, almost. Certainly not happy or gentle, for that was not a facet of Justice at all. But still…

Whatever. It was out of his hands now; Fenris was gone for good.

“He was in the way of our mission,” Anders sighed. “Hawke has been accepting more and more Templar assignments from the Knight Commander. Fenris no doubt had influence enough to sway her to do this.”

_**The Singing Elf had his opinions, voiced them, and then would do whatever his leader decided, whether it was to help or detain the mages. You are blind if you think Hawke had no will of her own. She has always leaned towards the Templars…especially after the tragedy with her sister in the Deep Roads.** _

“You would think with a sister and father as mages, she would be more inclined to help us,” Anders grumbled. “You think now that Fenris is gone I could seduce Hawke and put her on our side?”

_**That would be a waste of our time, idiotic, and cruel; none of which I have the patience for, as you well know.** _

“Kill joy.”

_**A question for you, Anders?** _

“Shoot.”

_**Hawke was not the only one you desired, was she?** _

Anders blinked up at his ceiling, mulling over the question for a moment. 

If you ignored the mage hating tendencies, and a frightening eagerness to stick his hands where they shouldn’t belong, Fenris was very desirable, even with all that pent up hate. He was easy on the eyes, but what made him wank worthy to Anders was that even though he was an elf and a former slave, he was strong. Sure, he easily wielded a sword that was as long as he was tall, but he also refused to cow, to bend beneath the expectations that others placed on him just because he was who he was: a former slave, and an elf. That drew Anders more surely than anything else; a twisted, corrupted version of a kindred spirit, of sorts.

Maker, it didn’t even make sense in his own head.

“No,” Anders sighed at long last. “No, she wasn’t.”

_**Even though he was a distraction, that did not validate what happened. You MUST avenge him.** _

“Justice, I am on a schedule here,” Anders snarled. “And between Hawke’s adventures, Templars trying to break down my door, and the Grand Cleric being her stubbornly neutral self, I barely have enough time to work on the Manifesto, let alone eat and sleep.”

_**Sleep is for those who have nothing better to do.** _

“Aha, but what about food then?”

_**The Blood Mage takes care of those needs for you. Next time you see her, would you please pass on my compliments of her elderberry pie? It was…Divine.** _

“Justice, did you just make a joke?”

_**I do not joke Anders. And I am serious about Fenris. We should right it straight away.** _

“What about the mages here?” Anders asked. “Am I supposed to up and leave them to chase after a single person?”

Justice did not answer. Anders eventually fell into a fitful sleep, his dreaming full of desperate pleading voices, terrifying blood magic, and heart-broken green eyes.


	2. Chapter 1

“Fenris, sit.”

Fenris came before his master woodenly, and sat at the man’s feet, eyes staring blankly at the floorboards of the rocking ship. They had been at sea for three days now, on a ship bound for Minranthous after dropping cargo off in Rivian.

“Little wolf,” Danarius said quietly. “Look at me.”

Fenris raised his head, eyes settling just off to the side of his master’s face, as was proper.

“You are…troubled, I take it? From what happened back in Kirkwall?”

There was no emotion in him, other than a dull pain, located somewhere in his chest. He had no dreams anymore, had no desires. He just didn’t care anymore.

“I…I am serviceable, Master,” Fenris replied quietly.

“You didn’t answer my question,” the man returned softly. “Are you troubled by what happened?”

Fenris glanced at his master’s face, ears dropping as he started to shake. “Master…I…why did she…”

“Why did she betray you?” Danarius finished, looking thoughtful as Fenris nodded. “I am not sure myself,” he admitted. “You were, and still are, very skilled. I was expecting to fight for you. Did you ever displease her?”

Fenris shook his head, looking back down at his hands, which were clenched in his lap.

“Little wolf,” Master said gently. “Did you…love her?”

Fenris choked on a sob, eyes clenching shut as he fought against his body’s reaction; the memories flowed like water, all of the happy ones, the intimate ones, over shadowed by one pivotal event. Despite his silent pleas, his body shook, and the tears started to build up.

“I-I don’t un-derstand,” he whispered. “I did, did whatever she wanted and-and enjoyed pleasing her, why-”

“Shh,” Master hushed, one of his hands starting to run through Fenris’ hair. The elf didn’t even have the will to shudder.

“It was unavoidable, Fenris. It’s true,” he added at the shocked look on the elf’s face. “I am sure that you adored her beyond anything in this world…but for a woman like that to truly love you? Don’t be naïve Fenris. You know better than that. You always have been a slave, and you always will be a slave. Slaves do not earn or deserve love. You are there to aid the whims of your master, nothing more. You were looking for, and found, a substitute mistress in her. Tell me, did you enjoy following her? Did you obey her command without thought? Did you beg for her to take you, use you, to make you scream until you begged for mercy, only to receive none?”

“Yes,” Fenris whispered. “Yes.”

“Then you were doomed from the start, my pet,” Master said sadly. “You know, you’re not the only one to have loved and lost.”

“Master?”

Master offered him a true smile; sad, bitter, but a smile nonetheless. “She was my betrothed. I became Magister after I ripped apart the man who violated and murdered her.”

“I am sorry, Master.” And it was true; he was sorry. Sorry that he fell for another, and that he was seeing his Master now in a more human light; the old, freer Fenris would have snarled and fought against this disturbing feeling.

Now-present Fenris did nothing except try to make his Master feel better, noting and then studiously ignoring the gleam in the man’s eyes.

“You do realize, of course,” Master said, standing and starting to pace. “That I will have to punish you when we get back home. All those years running from your rightful place, all those men that I hired that you killed, all those hours wasted.”

“Yes, Master.”

“So you won’t even try to beg your way out of punishment, my little pet?”

Master indeed sounded stunned; even before he had tasted freedom, Fenris had had…moments. Spirited, he was called. Never outright disobedience, just little moments here and there; Danarius had learned quickly that unless he wanted his wolf to ‘get creative’, he would give him specific, no-loop-holes instructions. Perhaps he had been spirited and alive once, but now he lacked not only the spirit to try, but lacked the will and heart to pull anything off.

He felt nothing, wanted nothing, desired nothing other than to lie down, and sleep.

“No, Master.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken months of preparation, but now Fenris knew exactly what his punishment would be. As he was strapped down to the table, he glanced over at the unconscious slave who would receive his markings; a young boy, probably no older than Fenris had been when he had first received Danarius’ gift. His body was thin and malnourished, as most slaves were, and his body held temporary lines to mark where they would cut into the skin, and then pour the molten lyrium into the wounds. Would he suffer the same pain, the same agony that Fenris had? Would he lose not only his memories, but his sense of self and who he used to be?

What did it matter, Fenris thought as he turned back towards the ceiling, unflinching as scalpels and knives appeared in his vision. His markings were of no benefit to him anymore; a dead body could not utilize them as Danarius wished.

Not even Danarius could convince or beat him into caring anymore. Threats of punishment for not being fast enough, tender entreaties to try to get him to explain why he wasn’t over what had happened; nothing yielded the results the magister wanted- Fenris changing back to his higher performing, albeit willful, service. Fenris just couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

Why would he, when the person he had trusted the most, loved even, had sent him away like he was nothing?

He was nothing. Hawke had made sure of that.

“Please,” he whispered. “Cut out my heart, if you have any mercy in you.”

Even though he didn’t flinch when the knives descended, even in his apathy he couldn’t keep the screams inside.

They carved into him for what seemed like eternity; time slipped away from him as the lyrium was slowly, painstakingly gouged from his skin. It had hardened over time, and it was with long, thin tweezers that the surgeons pulled out small bits and pieces of the lyrium. Fenris’ voice gave out long before they finished, and when they finally pronounced him done, he was still miraculously conscious, covered head to foot in his own blood, and whimpering at the pain.

He didn’t answer Danarius when his Master questioned him, and it was only when he was thrown into a dark, windowless cell that he finally fell into blessed darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fenris no longer had any sense of time. He awoke from the darkness slowly, body aching, and then after some time, truly burning as if he had been set on fire. Infection, he realized dimly. It was only to be expected; he was not properly nourished to begin with, no disinfectant had been used during his procedure, and now he was stuck with open and bleeding wounds in a pitch black cell that had probably not been cleaned in years.

He could have been there for only hours, or days, or months even. He slipped constantly from awake and struggling with his body to unconscious and struggling with his mind.

Fever dreams hounded him ruthlessly, always there when he slipped away from the world, trying to escape the pain in his body, seeking rest, and finding none to be had.

His memories, what little of them there were to be had, were replayed, sometimes with utter and clear clarity, and other times warped beyond imagining. In some of them, the Abomination looked on him with not only hatred, but lust. Merrill went from being naïve and innocent one moment to demonic and perverse the next. Isabella constantly morphed into Hadrianna, and Hawke, blessed and strong and beautiful Hawke, was always there to welcome Fenris with open arms. Sweet words always fell from her lips while her hands tore and ripped at his skin, drawing blood and screams from the elf. Even the more intimate moments they shared were not safe; Fenris lost count of the many times the gentle love making turned nasty unexpectedly, much like Hawke’s betrayal.

Memories of Seheron made appearances as well, most of the faces shapeless and formless. The sights, sounds, even the smells of his time spent with the Fog Warriors were intact- up to when he had killed them all. Even that was spectacularly vivid.

Then there were the dreams that seemed like memories, but Fenris was positive were not memories. Hawke was female, not male, but he kissed with the same passion, shoved with the same force, and made him curse and scream with the same smiles, tricks, and words. Isabella sometimes did not stay beyond the Qunari repulsion; sometimes she did. Sebastian appeared and disappeared with the same consistency, and sometimes the people they had killed were spared, or vice versa. It seemed so real, so consistent, that Fenris soon gave up trying to sort fact from fiction; it wouldn’t matter much longer, he would probably die from his wounds, and he would go to the Maker’s side…if Sebastian (or the Chantry, whoever told him that) were to be believed.

One of his dreams was upon him now, and it seemed quite real. Light blinded him, and he wished idly for the energy to curl up and hide his face from it, for it was painful. Eventually the light dimmed, and he felt someone, something, grab a hold of him and start dragging him from his prison.

If he had been of a better mind, he would have been weeping his gratitude to them. As it was, he could only let himself be pulled along, ignoring his body’s cries for mercy.

He drifted in and out of awareness, as had become the norm for him. One moment he was being dragged through the dungeon, the next he was staring up at the spire-filled skies of Minranthous, and the next he was under the canopy of a forest, and being hauled to his feet.

Voices drifted in and out around him; speaking gibberish and nonsense, but it would probably have made sense if he could just gather enough will to concentrate…

He winced, drawn back to the world for a few moments of clarity as the knife cut into his thighs. One of the men who dragged him away dipped his fingers in the cut, dragging and smearing the blood around Fenris’ groin, and belly. After wiping his fingers on the grass, the man got up and left.

Fenris took stock of the situation as best as he could; he was naked, held upright and tied against the trunk of a tree, and he was in the middle of a forest that didn’t seem to be near any village or town. Oh, and judging by the rumble overhead, it would start raining soon.

He sighed. He, and any other slave, had heard of this punishment before; when a slave lived out their usefulness, or especially drew the ire of their master, they were left in the middle of the wilderness to feed the beasts. A woman was usually cut around the belly (for that was what any female slave was good for- for breeding) and the men cut around the thighs or genitals, and blood was smeared to encourage the beasts to attack at the perceived weak point. It was a gruesome, painful way to go.

So this was how it was going to end, he thought, not even bothering to test his restraints. Betrayed by the woman he loved, sold back into slavery, heartbroken, and now to be food for any beast that came upon him. Perhaps it would be a wolf; there would be irony in that fate that he was sure his former Master would appreciate.

Fenris sagged, no longer caring to try to stay upright and letting the rope take up his slack. The wind picked up, sending a welcome chill through his feverish body, and then the sky opened up. Even the generous leaf-filed branches of the tree did not protect him long; soon he was drenched.

He felt a small bit of annoyance at that; the rain would mask his scent longer, and prolong his agony. Why couldn’t something (or someone) come along and finish him off? He would welcome death now, in fact, he craved it. Death would be his release from this pitiable excuse of a life. What was freedom to him anymore? It had earned him nothing but pain beyond comparison.

Fenris was…hyper aware now, of the rain drenching and rolling down his skin, of the wind biting at his bones and bringing the sweet scent of wet foliage. He felt the dirt beneath his feet churning into mud, and felt every dent and crater in the bark of the tree that was digging into his back. His ears even picked up the sound of the rope soaking up the water, creaking as it adjusted.

A strange snarl reached his ears, and slowly, painstakingly, he drew his gaze up.

“Tigris,” Fenris sighed.

An extremely large, extremely proud creature stood before him. A large feline, burnt orange fur coat decorated in black stripes whose large head easily came up to Fenris’ shoulder. Large amber colored eyes stared at the elf, ears laid back flat against its skull as it started pacing in front of him, almost as if it was thinking or considering him.

“I’ll make it, easy,” Fenris murmured, pushing his head up and against the trunk of the tree, baring his throat. “Tigris, just…finish it, quickly.”

He closed his eyes as the feline stalked forward, waiting patiently for the feel of teeth clamping down, of his life coming to a sharp, sudden halt.

Instead, his eyes flew open in surprise as he felt gravity betray him, the ropes suddenly gone, and he fell to the ground in an undignified heap. Fenris coughed, tilting his head up to look at the animal.

There was something strange about this creature, he decided, thoughts hazy and indirect as the large cat opened its mouth, fangs flashing before it bent its neck, and gently gripped his ankle, and started dragging him away. Odd, but there was a strange rhythm to the ground he was being dragged across…it lulled him downward, the odd rocks and sticks and dips in the ground not really hurting him anymore, just adding different tugging sensations that lulled him down into complete darkness.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some medical stuff and introspection.

Fenris was a wreck, even an untrained blind genlock could see that.

It had been months since he had seen the elf, but Anders was both surprised and heartbroken at the changes in what had once been a fetching warrior…who had about as much personality as a cactus, and twice as many spines. Even with all his hatred for mages, and anything magic related, Anders had never hesitated in healing the prickly bastard; it just wasn’t in his nature to let a living creature suffer needlessly.

Yet, now when Fenris probably needed him the most, he paused.

It wasn’t just the extensive injuries, the shrunken form, or the slowly paling skin that stopped him; it was the thought of what now that drew him to a halt.

If he healed the elf, it would mean possibly months of care and attention…which, while he himself didn’t mind doing, someone else might. It could push everything he had planned back by an undeterminable amount, and would ruin what precious little information he had learned in his time here. 

If he didn’t heal the elf, the elf would die.

Anders growled, and with a small flash of light, returned to his human form. With efficient movements, he picked up the unconscious man, deposited him on his only bed, and set to work preparing a few potions, heating some clean rags, and mentally tallying what he had in his cupboard to feed the other man when he finally awoke.

If he awoke, Anders amended silently, glancing over Fenris’ still form. Where once eye-catching lyrium scars darted and skittered over skin, now yawned open wounds that were infected, some even oozing out yellowed puss. Fenris had always been thin, lanky even, but now he looked near skeletal. 

“You know, the first time I saw you, I had two thoughts,” Anders said conversationally as he drew closer, hands already glowing with energizing healing magic. “The first was how adorable you looked, and the second was what an adorable, blood thirsty pain in my arse you would no doubt be.” He situated himself at the elf’s side, intent on the marks (obviously new and not infected yet) on his thighs. 

Anders glanced up at the other man’s face, half-expecting to see green eyes open and livid and a sneer on those lips. ‘How dare you,’ he would say. ‘How _dare_ a mage think such thoughts of me!’ and he would then glow like the little broody firefly he wanted to be, chase Anders out of the room, and sulk until he either died from his wounds, sought out Anders’ help, or just forced himself to live through his injuries with sheer willpower. That was the Fenris Anders had come to know and expect.

Instead, the elf remained unconscious, and still looked utterly helpless. The markings, though gone, might have left enough residual lyrium in the skin that he might still glow- if he had the energy or will to try to light them. 

Anders waited another long moment, giving Fenris one last chance to awaken, chastise him soundly, and then chase him away. Instead, he continued to lie there, not moving save for the shallow rise and fall of his thin chest.

“Damn it.”

The first few days after rescuing Fenris, Anders had brought the elf back from the brink of death no less than four times. His body was trying to shut down, exhausted and spent, and the festering wounds and the fever did the elf no favors. 

Being a Healer of any sort meant that you would eventually come across a patient that you couldn’t save, no matter how much hope and manna you poured into them. Anders had seen it before, and if he lived long enough, he had no doubt that he would once again see the light leave someone’s eyes.

After what he had endured under Hawke, the Templars, and Sebastian, Anders refused to let someone he secretly ached for (and had not so secretly fought with on multiple occasions) leave him that easily. Whether he liked it or not, the elf had become an important figure in his life. Fenris might not have liked him, but he’d be damned if he let the elf die without doing everything in his power to save the angry bugger.

Fenris was not in good shape. Whatever he had been up to before Anders’ unplanned rescue, he had barely made it out alive. Anders held no illusions that Fenris would have survived at all if he had turned around and left the elf tied around that tree.

The first problem was Fenris’ cut up body. The old lyrium brands were gone, and replacing them were open wounds that resisted even the best of Anders’ healing abilities. It only seemed to prove his theory about remnant lyrium that resided in the elf despite most of the stuff having been removed. Some things, especially when magic was involved, never truly left. The lyrium, though in a much smaller amount, was still in the elf.

So, Anders focused instead on trying to heal the infection that caused them to swell and spew puss. Healing magic and a practical application of a toned down fire spell cleared that up nicely. After that, all he could do with his magic was supply the energy needed to heal. There would be scarring; there was no helping that, and scars were a natural part of the healing process. Fenris, if he survived, would undoubtedly have them for the rest of his life, even if the complications with the lyrium weren’t added to his woes.

The second problem was trying to get the unconscious elf to take in liquids and nourishment. For this, Anders already knew how to deal with it, though it wouldn’t last the warrior long. Simple stews, broth, and water, always water, were poured and massaged down Fenris’ lax throat. He watched over the unconscious man closely during this time, in case his body rejected the food and he would need to be rolled over so he wouldn’t choke. Luckily, Fenris kept it all down for the time being.

The last problem, and probably the worst, was the fact that the elf refused to awaken, and his dreams were certainly not pleasant. For the first few days, Anders didn’t worry about this: when the body was stressed, wounded, AND feverish, it was expected to take a few days rest to try to recover.

But the days stretched on, and Anders began to worry when Fenris started a rather jarring ritual; though he slept like the dead, he would end up more often than not screaming at odd hours. Anders was jarred awake more times than he could count by the thrashing and panicked screaming from the elf. What made it even more surreal was that while the elf could not awaken from these nightmares, he seemed to calm if Anders touched him. Nothing major, just a hand on the shoulder or a palm against his sweaty forehead.

“This is ridiculous,” Anders groaned after the umpteenth time being awakened by Fenris’ unearthly shrieking. “You are utterly ridiculous,” he grumbled under his breath, padding over to the bed and glaring down at his patient. The mage cracked his neck; it was not comfortable to sleep at his desk, but Fenris had needed the bed more than he did.

It was when he was gently stroking the elf’s face, calming him back into peaceful slumber, that he got an idea.

Once Fenris had settled back, Anders sighed, and was enveloped in a flash of light. He yawned, mouth opening wide to reveal long canines. His tail flicked as he glanced back at the elf, and it was with a rather haughty huff of annoyance that the mage, now in tiger form, climbed into bed next to the elf. Anders curled up on one side of the bed as much as he could, but given his size, he couldn’t avoid touching Fenris.

The elf shifted, curling closer towards the large magical entity, and letting out a soft sigh.

If only Varric were here, Anders thought sleepily. No way he would believe this.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind games, Anders style.

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but against his will, Fenris started to slowly become more aware as his senses started to register one by one: it was warm, his mouth was dry, he heard a crackling sound, it smelled like damp earth, something was tickling his skin, and when he at long last opened his eyes, it was a little too bright to suit him, but he weathered through it until he could slowly blink at the ceiling above him without his eyes tearing up. 

Fenris was…alive, it would seem. The elf mentally scowled. Honestly, you would think an animal as exotic as Tigris would have done a decent job of killing him; in his current state, it would be laughably easy. And it wasn’t really a bad death to boot either; a large, fearsome beast that was both feared and respected around all of Thedas? He could think of much worse or embarrassing ways to go.

He gingerly tilted his head to look beside him, blinking stupidly at what he realized was a bedmate.

The same animal that had dragged him into the jungle was now curled up next to him, fur glossy in the flickering candle light. Despite the bed being of decent size, with that monster of an animal in it with him, it was curled right up against him, heating him even through the blanket that was currently covering him.

If he had been back in Kirkwall when this had taken place, he probably would have leapt out of bed, grabbed something for an impromptu weapon to keep the beast at bay, and start bellowing for assistance on the off chance Hawke was nearby or Aveline was on patrol outside.

As it stood, he was not in Kirkwall, and he found he didn’t give a damn about anything.

“Tigris,” he grumbled. “You’re either the dumbest predator I’ve met, or you have me mistaken for something else. Which is it?”

The animal made a low rumbling sound, picking its’ head up to look back at him. Golden eyes met his, and Fenris stilled, waiting. Would the beast finish him off now? It wasn’t a bad place to die, nice big bed-

Wait.

Fenris slowly looked away from those golden eyes, taking in his new surroundings. A simple hut by all appearances; the bed he was in was easily the most opulent object in the room. The rest of the space was taken up by shelves full of what looked like various plant and fungi, and there were two straight-backed chairs, one of which was pulled up to his bedside while the other was at a small table laden with various books and papers. There was a fireplace, with a fire crackling inside it and a small pot bubbling over it.

Tigris huffed, and eased himself from the bed. He glanced back at Fenris, looking rather like he was sizing him up, before he snorted, and after nosing the front door open, strutted outside into the darkness.

Fenris tugged the blanket down, taking in the extent of the damage; where once white brands sprawled over his skin, now bore open wounds that had a dark red tint to them. The cuts on his thighs had been healed completely, and if he had to hazard a guess, it was a mage’s work. No remaining cuts or swellings were a dead giveaway of magic having been used. 

Unless he had hallucinated the whole thing, but Tigris being there was reassurance that he hadn’t.

The elf sighed, drawing the blanket back up to cover his form, and settled back in, eyes closing as he began to drift off…

“You’re a sore sight for these eyes.”

Fenris cracked one eye open, not even bothering to raise a surprised eyebrow at the man who now stood at his bedside. He licked his lips, voice croaking.

“I thought the expression was ‘a sight for sore eyes’?”

“Normally it is,” Anders said. “You, however, are an exception. You look like you hurt more than my eyes at any rate.”

Oddly enough, Fenris did ache, but compared to what he had felt during…the extraction procedure, it was downright pleasant.

“Is there a reason you saved me?”

The mage frowned down at him, brown eyes flashing angrily. “I save your sorry arse and you ask why?”

“Yes.”

Fenris watched the other man closely as the anger faded, replaced by ill-concealed worry. Amusing, for the Abomination to be concerned about him of all people, the elf thought.

“Why would you ask such a thing? You thought I would just…just let you die? I’m a healer Fenris. It would go against my nature to leave you to die when I could prevent it. No one deserves to die like that, no matter what they did to earn it. I’m assuming that was punishment for an escape attempt?”

“No.”

Again, the other man was staring at him. “Fenris,” Anders said slowly, almost cautiously. “Did Danarius do that to you?”

“Probably.”

“What did he do to you?” the mage murmured. “The Fenris I knew despised his former master and did anything and everything to torment the man and mock him. The Fenris I knew would be biting at the bit already to get vengeance on that man.”

“The Fenris you knew, Anders,” the elf replied wearily, “Is gone. The Fenris you knew had freedom, hope, and what he thought was a woman he would spend the rest of his life with once Danarius was taken care of.” He looked up at the mage, ears down and eyes empty. 

“Your Fenris is completely dead; Hawke’s betrayal crushed my spirit and broke my heart. Danarius just made my outside look like my insides; I am sickened, and will not heal. Even in the Imperium now, I am dead. Such punishments are reserved for slaves who have outlived their usefulness. No doubt I’ve already been stricken from any records.”

“But that’s excellent!” Anders said. “If you’re dead to the Imperium and Danarius, that means you can have a fresh start, without him chasing after you.”

Fenris blinked lethargically up at the apostate before turning over on his side, facing away from the other, and pulling the blanket back over his form. “There is no point anymore. Leave me, mage, so I can die in peace.”

And that was that. Anders tried to pester the elf with more questions, but Fenris ignored him. Eventually, Anders left the hut before he could lose his temper, and stalked out into the night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“This is stupid, this is stupid,” Anders muttered a few days later, pacing back and forth just outside his hut. He had come outside so Fenris wouldn’t see him lose his temper…again.

For some reason, Anders could (and had) dealt with angry, chip-in-his-shoulder Fenris with few problems; yes the angry elf bastard annoyed and angered him at times with his rhetoric and stories of Teventer Magisters and their regular bouts of cruelty, and yes they HAD thrown drinks at each other that one time after he had lost soundly to Fenris in Wicked Grace, but this new Fenris…

He would take angry, glowing, hopping mad Fenris over this broken shell of an elf any day.

His fever had broken, and generally that meant two things: the appetite would usually return, and Anders could let out a little sigh of relief that his patient was out of one predicament. Yet due to Fenris’ steadfast new…blankness, neither of these things happened, and it was worrying.

Everything was worrying, Anders thought tiredly as he paused, glancing back through the open doorway, to the elf that lay on the bed.

Fenris was, in the truest meaning of the word, broken. His body could, and eventually would, heal, but he wouldn’t live long with that new attitude of his. He only awoke because Anders would shake him awake. He only ate because Anders would stop pestering him if he did as was needed. He only spoke when Anders forced him to, and then it was only about how he was feeling with his wounds, and if he was hungry (he never was). 

Anders remembered, bitterly, just how independent Fenris had been before Danarius had gotten his hands back on the elf. Fenris lived alone, and he never accepted outright charity. It wasn’t that he was too proud; he just wanted to get what he needed on his own, because he had the choice to do it. He would not take any talk from anyone who thought he was a servant or a pet, and he refused to bow to many social norms, including acting ‘elfish’. 

Now he barely had enough of himself left in him to look Anders square in the eye when they interacted.

Hawke always had done the amazing and impossible; and now she had had a hand in breaking the spirit of one of the most willful people Anders had ever known. And to think he still missed her sometimes, he thought darkly.

Frustrated, Anders headed back inside as the sun went down, stomping over to the bed and glaring down at his patient, who opened one eye to stare balefully back.

“You are pathetic,” Anders finally said. “If this had been back in Kirkwall, you would have already been up and about, stomping around disturbing my other patients with your glowing broodiness, and demanding to know when you could leave the clinic and my presence.”

Fenris blinked slowly up at him, but didn’t otherwise respond.

“Look, I know you’re probably heartbroken about-about Hawke,” Anders tried. He kept speaking even though Fenris seemed unmoving. “But you need to pick up the pieces and move on. There are other fish in the sea.”

Again, Fenris didn’t reply, and Anders finally let loose days of worry, helpless anger, and frustration.

“Damn it Fenris,” he snarled, starting to pace in front of the bed, hands motioning wildly. “So you got sold out by a pretty woman in a skirt, big deal. It’s not like you can find someone else to fuck when you-”

“Shut up.” 

The interruption had been weak, and quiet, but Anders still picked up on it. He whirled back towards Fenris, the cat in him sensing weakness and urging him to antagonize their prey further before moving in for the kill.

“What? Did I touch a nerve?” he taunted. “That’s all she was to you, wasn’t she? Just a warm hole to-”

“Shut. Up,” Fenris whispered both eyes open now, and flickering with…with something.

Anders, being Anders, ignored the elf and continued forward.

“Aw, isn’t that adorable? The little dog thought he loved the little bird,” he cooed, watching with grim satisfaction as his patient grew more and more agitated. “Trying to protect her honor? Sweet, very sweet. You do know she loved to visit the Blooming Rose at least once a week? Yes, and she was always following Isabella into her back room, and the screaming you would hear from there would curl your toes, if you know what I mean. Oh, and this one time, she asked to see my staff-”

The elf let out a strangled noise, and Anders paused for a moment to watch him struggle towards him on the bed. His anger was giving him strength, he noted, but not enough to actually keep him moving forward once he got to the edge of the bed. He did however manage to reach out and grab Anders’ hand, and _squeeze_.

If the elf had been at his full capacities, the mage’s hand probably would have been crushed. As it was, even when the elf was this weak, Anders could feel the tension in his joints that told him in no uncertain terms that Fenris could break them if he truly wished, and all he had to do was twist them in just the right way-

“You will silence your wagging tongue, Abomination,” Fenris said, not going above a raspy whisper. “I will not have you besmirching her name in my presence.”

“‘Besmirching her name’?” Anders repeated, quickly tugging his hand from the elf and taking a step back. “You make it sound as if she was Andraste returned. She sold you back to your master, and you won’t even let me bad mouth her? I claim the right to, seeing as how she’s the reason you’re in this sorry state and I have to patch you up.”

“No one asked you to do…to do this,” Fenris hissed, motioning vaguely at his form. “Slander and abuse my courage all you want, mage, but I will not suffer to hear you bring Hawke into this again.”

Anders had experienced having patients who had given up hope before, even if giving it all up was premature. He knew how the mind could affect the body’s progress to heal fully, and that sometimes, the mind could actually twist, or even kill, a body that was otherwise perfectly healthy. Hopeless patients were dangerous not only to themselves, but to the other patients around them, and to their own healer. Usually family members or loved ones were called in if it got bad, and Anders had never had to worry beyond that, since almost all his patients would bounce back after a few days and with enough tender loving care.

It was at this point that Anders realized he might have stumbled on something vital in regards to Fenris, and it was with eagerness that he ignored what should have been a sizable boundary, one that a decent healer would not cross for fear of the patient’s delicate situation. Seeing as how Fenris didn’t really have anyone else, Anders bid his common sense goodbye and leapt over the edge. 

“Make me. Oh, wait, you _can’t_.”

“So help me,” Fenris whispered, eyes literally blazing now, “Just take one step closer to this bed, and I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of, even in this state.”

“I’ve had better offers,” Anders replied. “Besides, we can’t do anything, you’re really hurt. Although I _did_ know a healer who claimed to have ‘healing cock’ but I never did quite understand how that worked exactly.”

Oops, he seemed to have shocked the anger right out of the elf, if the confused blinking were any indication.

“Tell you what,” he offered quickly, hoping to seize the moment and make it work. “I’ll make you a deal. You actually _try_ to live through this-and I mean really try, not just going through the motions-and you and I will have a duel over Hawke’s honor, or whatever it is you want, when you’re fully healed. If you win, I won’t stain Hawke’s honor anymore.”

“And if you win?”

“Haven’t thought about it yet,” Anders drawled, glancing down at his fingernails. “No abomination tendencies or blood magic though, promise.”

The spark in the elf’s eye dimmed somewhat, but, as Anders gleefully noted, it did not fully disappear. 

“Very well, mage. I will enjoy seeing you on your knees, begging for mercy.”

“Won’t we both,” Anders muttered, heading over to the pot to check on supper.


	5. Chapter 4

The trick with dragging Fenris out of his depression, it seemed, was to give him a goal to work towards, and to bug the ever living hell out of him, which was harder than it normally was, but Anders was sure he could somehow manage.

The first obstacle was to steadily help Fenris strengthen his muscles; between the malnourishment he had suffered and his catatonic recovery in bed, his muscles had suffered, and needed to be built up again.

Problem with this predicament was that one of the ways Anders could help would be to touch the elf, who had been prickly enough before leaving Kirkwall, and was now downright, well, rude.

“Touch me there again, mage, and you’ll lose the hand.”

Granted, his comment was better than his initial reaction when Anders went to touch him the first time Fenris was fully conscious and aware. Watching a once proud warrior flinch away from healing hands, and then actually let out a whimper when they touched his skin was disheartening, even for their sort of relationship. Despite their past animosity, Anders had no real quarrel with Fenris. He had been saved by the elf multiple times, and had returned the favor. And yes, he was irritated at Fenris’ constant refusal to stand for mage rights, but Anders had recently come to the conclusion that the only way to show anyone that mages were put on Thedas for good things was to shut up and show them.

It was nice, to be able to think a little clearer nowadays. Anders had a few gaps here and there- he’d expect another feeling to pop up to argue or agree with his thoughts, but otherwise, it was nice to have his head to himself again.

Anders sighed, ignoring Fenris’ comment and continuing with the massage. He couldn’t help it if doing this encouraged blood flow to the recovering muscles; it was what it was. Granted, some of the areas he was touching were a bit intimate, but seeing as how the elf had been naked for weeks in his presence and he hadn’t yet taken advantage of him, Anders thought that deserved some recognition.

“Fenris, this is completely professional, and despite what you might think, this does work. You’ll thank me later when I’m begging at your feet for mercy because you had the stamina to keep fighting me.”

They had a steady routine for the moment as well. In the morning, Anders would awaken first, and get breakfast started. Fenris had been upgraded to plain solids, and if he kept up his recovery rate, more complex and tasty meals were definitely in the near future. The elf would usually wake up in time to watch Anders dole out their portions, and they would eat. Then Anders would help the elf with his morning routine, and would gently sponge the elf clean, checking his wounds as he went. After that, they would exercise. Eventually dinner would be served, and once Fenris had fallen asleep, Anders would stay up to note the elf’s progress in his ever-present journal until he too retired, always in tiger form. Fenris never questioned the presence of a strange, powerful animal in bed with him, and Anders didn’t offer an explanation. It was better this way, he mused. 

At first, the exercising constituted Anders literally dragging the elf around the hut; Fenris would take a few shaky steps, then his legs would give out, and Anders would drag him to sit to catch his breath, and then they would go right back at it. Thankfully, Fenris didn’t complain about having to hang onto the healer like a leech.

Eventually, it led to Fenris being able to stand, and stiffly walk around on his own, with Anders trailing close behind in case he fell.

All in all, Fenris was doing a damn good job at recovering.

And then it all nearly fell apart.

Fenris had been doing quite well that day; he had walked around the hut a few times without help, albeit slowly. After a small lunch, Fenris crawled back into bed for a much deserved nap. Deciding that the other man would be just fine without him for a few hours, Anders headed to the nearest village; a small outpost really, but it did have a market to buy food, and a tavern to buy and listen for news. 

And after spending weeks caring nonstop for the elf, Anders was in desperate need of knowing the goings-on in the world outside his little hut in his little corner of his enchanted little forest with his happy little elf.

Maker, he was already going mad. Next he would be on the lookout for friendly forest animals that would sing along with him while he cleaned house.

He also picked up some clothes for Fenris. Anders certainly didn’t mind the elf prancing around naked all the time, but he supposed that eventually Fenris would like to restore some of his dignity.

As he entered back into his hut, he glanced up, nearly dropping his things in shock.

Fenris was sitting. At his desk. With his journal. In. Hand.

But that was fine, right? Anders thought desperately, ignoring the produce rolling over the floorboards. Slaves in the Imperium weren’t permitted to read. He was probably entranced by the little doodles in the margins of Ser Pounce-a-lot, or the dirty ones Isabella had been fond of leaving in all the worst places.

“Good read?”

Fenris ignored him, staring resolutely at the book in his lap. Anders relaxed a little more; this famous Fenris Stare was only ever pulled out and used when the elf was extremely frustrated, and sought to stare down anyone or anything that was bothering him. And the mage was pleased to know that his journal would not submit.

“Healer,” Fenris said quietly.

“That’s me,” Anders replied.

“You made a deal with me, after knowing, after writing down what happened to Hawke?”

Oh. Shit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fenris had been slowly recovering under the mage’s care. It was strange, feeling once more, wanting once more. The anger Anders had poked and prodded at mercilessly had turned into determination, and Fenris was eager to use it. He would show that upstart Abomination. 

Fenris had never been one for overt gestures; he was, as Isabella had once pointed out, much like a soldier in that regard- straight, blunt, and to the point. He also did not like to show off his knowledge of things; to show what he did and did not know would expose him, make him vulnerable to attacks, verbal or otherwise. Know-it-all elves were never appreciated, and he did not care much for being ridiculed over things he did not know.

And then Hawke had strode into his life, covered head to toe in blood and entrails, and wearing a big friendly smile. 

He fell, hard, and it had shown.

Only around Hawke did he let his guard down, and because of this, she eventually found out he couldn’t read.

_“Well then,” she had said with a smile. “This is certainly a shackle I can help you remove…if that is to your liking.”_

Despite his continued frustration, it was very much to Fenris’ liking. He enjoyed spending time alone with Hawke; they did not worry about traps or bandits they might encounter. There was no Abomination there to lead them both astray with his antics, and no strangers pleading for Hawke’s help. Just him and Hawke, alone in either his mansion or in the library at the Hawke Estate, poring over foreign pen scratching that slowly began to hold meaning for the former slave, instead of continuing to silently mock him.

One of the first words he learned to write was Hawke’s name. The second was his own. The third was 'freedom'. He had been happy, content even, and it was thanks to this beautiful, kind woman.

She had known and understood him better than he himself had, which was why no one else except Varric (of course) had found out the change in his educational status.

Fenris had awoken from his nap refreshed, and upon seeing the hut empty, promptly proceeded to gingerly pull himself up and out of bed, and started poking and prodding around.

After all, it’s not like the mage would come out and tell him everything that had happened since they had last seen each other. Perhaps the Abomination would have a few clues laying around as to where Hawke was…

At first he found nothing of interest; herbs, poultices, books with magical runes he refused to touch. He found an old faded pillow, embroidered and sewn with obvious care. Curious, he sniffed it; it held a light, earthy smell that wasn’t unpleasant. He left it once he laid eyes on a familiar looking book.

Hawke had kept a book similar to this, he remembered. She would take time out during her days to write down her adventures, big or small, in them.

Eagerly, Fenris snatched up the well-worn book, opened it to a random page, and read:

**_Left behind. I am relieved that I won’t have to deal with darkspawn, but I still feel uneasy. The leader, Hawke, is intriguing. Her views are opposite my own, but I feel that despite this, I will at least know where I stand with her. A blessing, perhaps. I am a bit miffed that both her and the elf are leaving together. When his mouth isn’t open and spewing vile things about mages, I quite like Fenris. He’s pleasing to look at. And shiny. Shiny is good._ **

At this point, the elf in question took a seat at the desk, eyebrow raised. Anders ‘liked’ him? And he was shiny?

Mulling over what he knew about the mage, Fenris came to the conclusion that, like any other magister, Anders appreciated silent, compliant beauty.

 _No more,_ he thought with grim satisfaction, eyeing the network of scars on his hands before turning his attention back to the journal.

**_-owe the bloody elf three sovereigns over last night’s Wicked Grace. Which is rather sad since I don’t HAVE three sovereigns. And he kept smirking at me the rest of the night. Not conducive to a good night’s rest. The Maker is laughing at me._ **

Fenris smirked at that. He remembered now, that night. Anders was lucky that was all he owed Fenris; if they had followed Isabella’s suggestion, clothing would have been removed. And knowing her, she would have probably wrested a kiss from the Abomination as well.

Chuckling at the mental images that conjured, the elf continued reading.

**_-Justice wishes to investigate Fenris more closely. Must be all that lyrium in the elf’s skin. Luckily, as Fenris’ bestest friend in the whole of Thedas, it is my sworn duty to protect him from overly curious spirits. Fenris need never know how close he came to being elf-shaped lyrium catnip for Justice. Thank the Maker for small mercies._ **

Fenris wasn’t sure WHAT to make of that, so he flipped a few more pages, noticing the increasingly messy, cramped and hurried handwriting.

**_-cannot continue. Justice tied too tightly to my emotions. He is Vengeance personified, and Vengeance is never Justice. Must stop him, free him from this earthly coil. Hawke will help!_ **

Frowning, Fenris moved forward another page.

**_-dead. I can’t believe it came to that. Hawke hurt badly. I need to go check on her again very soon. Will strangle Fenris later for suggesting such a thing._ **

Fenris rolled his eyes, turning a few more pages, pausing when he came across a page that was blank, save for two simple lines.

**_Fenris is gone. The world is much crueler than I had realized._ **

The former slave snorted, unimpressed. Near a decade of working together on various missions and quests, and it took his final leave to really hammer home to the mage that the world was cruel. Figured.

He shuffled the pages back and forth for a moment, then dived back in, towards the end of the journal.

**_Hawke is dead. The Chantry lies in ruins. Meredith was dispatched by Orsino, who was then dispatched by Knight Captain Cullen.  
It had to be done. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less._ **

Fenris stilled, frowning at the words before him. He went back, and read again.

**_Hawke is dead._ **

Obviously this was a lie, a trick by the mage. Hawke wasn’t dead, Fenris reasoned. Hawke couldn’t die…

Except she could. She nearly had after that duel with the Arishok. Even though she had meant the world to him, had done many improbable and impossible things…she bled, like any other. 

And Maker take him, but he also knew that she cried, and could be wounded like any other.

**_Hawke is dead._ **

He stared at that sentence, reading it over and over again, willing the words to make sense, to morph into a sentence that didn’t go against everything he knew to be right in his world.

He was still staring at it when Anders walked back in.

“Good read?”

Fenris slowly looked up, staring at the man before him as if truly seeing him for the first time.

This man, this bedraggled mage that had stubbornly kept Fenris alive for the past few weeks, had written the impossible in his journal.

He…he was…

“Healer,” Fenris said quietly.

“That’s me,” Anders replied.

“You made a deal with me, after knowing, after writing down what happened to Hawke?”

The mage froze, eyes widening in surprise. No doubt he had thought that Fenris, like any other slave, had not acquired the skills needed to read. Any other day, any other place, Fenris would have rejoiced at stunning his rival.

This though…this was a bitter victory for the elf.

Anders shifted, still in the doorway. Fenris took note of the produce and packages that had fallen from the healer’s arms, and then returned his gaze to the man’s guilty looking face.

“I had no choice-”

 _“Liar,”_ Fenris whispered, cutting through the other man’s excuse as easily as with a sword.

“I didn’t,” Anders shot back, standing up straighter. “You were depressed, and it wasn’t doing you any favors-”

“So you thought hiding the fact that my former lover is dead was a good idea?”

“Well-”

“Perhaps you thought to dangle it over me, waiting until our duel to pull it out, distracting me long enough to end me?” Fenris said, still quiet but venom quickly creeping into his tone. The anger was building, choking him-

“Why would I-”

“Because you are a _mage, and a liar,” Fenris hissed, throwing the journal at Anders’ feet. “You will do what you feel you must to reach your goals, the feelings and needs of others be damned!”_

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Why do you insist on lying?!” Fenris roared, losing his temper completely and lurching out of the chair. He would strangle the mage, slowly, and he would enjoy watching the man’s face turn blue…

The elf stumbled, snarling and batting away the mage’s helping hands. “Why do you think you can get away with lying to me?” he continued, dropping to the floor and glaring up defiantly at the other man. “I may have been a slave, but I am no simpleton! I know what mages are, and what they want. You are no different from my former master. You will not be content until you have every other free living being bowing to your superiority, your _magic_ ,” he spat. “And you will try to expand the Imperium. And I won’t be there to stop you.”

“What was that?” Anders asked, a little sharply.

Fenris snorted, lowering his gaze to the floor, feeling suddenly very old, and very, very tired. “Mage, I have no reason for living. I have outlived my purpose. Hawke is gone…unless you lied about that as well.”

“No,” Anders said quietly. “Hawke truly is gone. She…I, I am so sorry Fenris.”

“My my, an actual apology,” Fenris said, lacking any bite now. “I owe Merrill one sovereign and a frolic through the woods.”

“She can’t frolic where she is right now.”

Fenris glanced up, curious despite himself. “What happened to the naïve little blood mage?”

Anders shrugged. “After Hawke…she followed Isabella and the others to the sea. I wouldn’t be surprised if those two stuck together.”

“No,” Fenris murmured. “I wouldn’t either.”

Silence fell for a long time; Fenris stayed on the floor, and Anders did not move from the doorway. 

Eventually, Anders stepped forward, kneeling down to gather Fenris up and lead him back to the bed. “C’mon,” he muttered. “I’ll explain more when you’re not in your I-Hate-All-Mages-And-You-Can-All-Just-Piss-Off mood.”


	6. Chapter 5

Fenris did not sleep well that night. He seemed to have taken a step back in his healing progress, and was unable to fall into a restful sleep. He kept tossing and turning, snarling in his sleep, and kicking Anders in his furry ribs. Eventually, Anders had had enough of this, and quietly slid out of bed, furry paws silent on the floor of the hut.

A soft whine made him pause, and glance back. 

The elf had rolled onto Anders’ side of the bed, arms outstretched and searching for the now familiar fuzzy form of his bedmate.

 _Void take me,_ Anders thought as he wearily climbed back into bed, gently nudging Fenris aside so he had room to curl up once more. Once Anders had settled in fully, the elf snuggled up against him, grunting once before falling silent and still.

So, all it took for him to quiet down was a large fluffy kitten? Good to know. As it was, it was rather adorable to see the otherwise cranky elf relaxed, asleep, and clutching at a transformed mage like a child does a beloved toy. Who would have thought Fenris would ever cuddle anything?

It was something to cherish, he mused as he drifted into the Fade. It made the elf seem…less bestial, more easily attainable.

Dangerous thoughts, those. Especially when they affected his dreams.

It wasn’t unusual for him to dream of other people. It wasn’t even odd to dream of Fenris, though this was one of the few times it wasn’t a nightmare, the elf glowing and reaching for Anders’ heart with one hand while he lofted his sword high with the other.

No, this version of Fenris was decidedly much more pleasant.

It had started out well enough; a grassy field overlooked by a wide open blue sky, and a very interesting book on arcane lore sitting in his lap.

He wasn’t sure when Fenris got there, but soon enough Anders and the dream Fenris were sitting side by side, silently enjoying the weather. Anders glanced aside at his companion.

This Fenris wasn’t real, but the details were quite well done. He was out of his usual armor, wearing instead brown trousers and a simple white cotton shirt that was too large on him; his neck and collar bone were bared. His white hair flipped in his eyes as the wind blew, he smelled the same, his lyrium markings were gone, and instead the scars he had now were present, but less pronounced, less infected. As fully healed as they would ever be, they did not make Fenris unappealing.

Of course, Anders might have been a bit biased, but he had no problem whatsoever with Fenris’ new marks.

“You may touch them, if you wish.”

Amused now, Anders reached out, gently stroking the marks along Fenris’ bared neck with his finger. The elf sighed quietly, head tilting ever so slightly into the touch. The soft sound and trusting gesture was enough to send a zing of want up the mage’s spine. All it would take was a subtle application of pressure under the elf’s jaw to turn his head, tilt it up, and take those lips in his. 

_If only,_ Anders thought sadly, drawing his hand back. If only the real Fenris were this happy, this trusting. Even if it wasn’t with him, even that grumpy elf deserved happiness.

“Why did you stop?”

Sylvan green eyes turned to look at him, and Anders offered his dream Fenris a sad smile. “I shouldn’t ache for something I can’t have in real life. It’ll just frustrate me further.”

Dream Fenris seemed to consider this for a moment. “Isn’t that what dreams are for? Release?”

“Perhaps,” Anders laughed. “But I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I’ve been through this before.”

His dream friend smiled in return, what looked like pity in his eyes as he faded away. “I see. Better the real thing instead of a substitute.”

Indeed. But that didn’t make it any easier dealing with the real thing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The mage had lied to him. Fenris supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, but after knowing the Abomination for near ten years, Fenris had thought the man’s word to be trustworthy enough, disregarding any Templar involvement of course.

Oh how naïve he was. Did this not reinforce what he had known all along? Never, ever, trust a mage or their motives.

He didn’t bother trying to figure out the mage’s plan; the Abomination had always been a dangerous, and very loose, canon. The elf doubted that the man had gained what little sense he had possessed back since Fenris’ return trip to Tevinter. 

It didn’t improve his mood when he woke up the next morning curled up around Tigris- or what should have been Tigris.

He was naked, in bed, and curled tightly around the mage.

Naked. In bed. _Mage._

The situation was immediately rectified.

While perhaps not a monumental achievement, this was the most satisfactory thing that Fenris had done since arriving back in Tevinter. And he really did enjoy kicking the mage out of his bed and onto the floor.

The high-pitched yelp the mage gave was a bonus.

Fenris glared at Anders when he poked his head back up over the bed, hair mussed and disheveled from his fall, and a very deep pout on his face.

“A good look for you,” he snarled at the mage. “On your knees, as it should be!”

Anders blinked at him, mouth opening to reply. He paused, shut his mouth with a click, and cocked his head at the elf. “Do you have any idea how that could be taken? Fenris,” he said, all serious. “Are you coming on to me?”

“What? No! Idiot mage, I just meant-”

“Ah, I know what you meant now,” Anders smirked. He stood, brushing himself off. “I probably deserved that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes you did.”

“You never kicked me out when I was in my cute form.”

“Cute form- you, you were Tigris?” Fenris asked, eyes widening.

“Guilty,” Anders said, smiling weakly. His eyes took in Fenris fully, sliding from one area of Fenris’ body to another. Fenris shifted a little, aware of his disfigurement. 

“How else do you think you didn’t end up lunch? How else do you think I kept an eye on you all the time?”

“I suppose that’s a new trick your demon taught you,” Fenris growled, grabbing the blankets and tugging them up higher on his chest, hiding most of his marks.

“If by demon you mean the Warden Commander, then yes,” Anders replied, eyes returning to the elf’s. “I’d always been curious about how she could go from small, elfish, and oh so shiny to a raging bearskein on the battlefield.” He paused for a moment. “She’s a lot like you, come to think of it.”

“You would compare a Tevinter slave to a mage who commands the Order of the Grey?”

“I would,” Anders returned. “You’re both cranky, pig-headed stubborn fools who like to stick their hands where they don’t belong. Oh, and you both try to make my life as miserable as possible.”

“I thought the Hero of Fereldan was a mage?” Fenris asked.

“She is, but the way she looked at me or where she took me, I was really considering going back to the Templars, even if it meant being hanged.”

They looked at each other for a moment before the elf sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and spoke.

“I believe this is the part where you explain what exactly happened to my former lover, and why you allowed her to die.”

“In all honesty, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” Anders whispered. Fenris had to lean closer to the mage to hear him as he continued his story. 

“After you were taken away, I realized that not only was Kirkwall rapidly decaying, but that it was also reflecting the decay of its’ Champion. Fenris, there had been signs before you left, but…she completely unraveled after that. Even the Knight Commander was wary around Hawke- Hawke started killing Templars just as easily as mages. I once called you no better than a wild dog. I apologize and take that back. She made you look like a complete pacifist. She almost killed Aveline once. She was just so far gone…I had to move much more quickly than I could have anticipated. To have a chance of saving the city and its’ inhabitants, I was perhaps hastier than I should have been. I was clumsy. I rushed through the process when I should have slowed down and double-checked everything…”

“Anders,” Fenris said, just as quietly. “What did you do?”

“The salae petra, the drakestone- they are key ingredients for what would amount to a massive, burning explosion of magical energy. 

“I set it in the Chantry, and set my plan into motion. I knew that Hawke liked to go there, to pray for her mother, and I planned around that, but…it went off early, and she was inside when it went off.”

Fenris stared at the mage, unmoving. “No,” he finally said. “No-”

“She’s gone, Fenris. I’m…I’m so sorry-”

“Liar!” the elf snarled, throwing off the covers and rolling off the bed with a loud grunt. The mage was lying, again. Yes, Hawke was human. Yes, Hawke was vulnerable.  
But to claim that he had killed such a magnificent woman on accident…

How _dare_ he?!

“You lie,” he continued. “You couldn’t, wouldn’t, kill her. She meant so much to you as well. Don’t think you can fool me. I saw those covetous glances you gave her when you thought no one was watching,” he hissed, watching Anders face twist into a guilty grimace. “You wanted her, and not even your bumbling ineptitude would have taken her from this world. Impossible!” He took a step away from the bed, legs shaking with effort.

“Fenris, don’t!” The mage was reaching out to him, hands already glowing blue, concern etched into his features. Fenris snarled, baring his teeth and backing away clumsily from the outstretched hands. 

“You’ll hurt yourself-”

“Why do you care?!” Fenris spat, swatting away the man’s invasive hands. “I am everything you hate! I represent what happens if mages are given their freedoms; their cruelty and avarice is _carved into my skin_ ,” he said, voice rising as he gestured at his nude form. “I see mages as they truly are; a greedy, rotting disease on the face of Thedas. Monsters! You are all monsters that should be put down like the rabid beasts you are!”

The mage had stilled, hands still cautiously outstretched as he stared at Fenris with an unfathomable look. Slowly, carefully, the mage stepped towards Fenris once more. Fenris took two steps back. Anders again stepped forward, and again, Fenris took two steps back.

He was unprepared for Anders’ assault, the mage flying at him with surprising speed. They collided, grappled, and tumbled to the floor in a mess of flailing limbs. Despite his previous uncontested strength, Fenris lost embarrassingly fast, and found himself panting into the floor, pinned by the healthier mage.

Anders said nothing as he held the elf, eventually placing his glowing hands gently on the elf’s shoulders, and beginning to trail them downward.

Fenris stilled, mind blanking as the magic spread out through him, easing aches and pains that he was just now registering. His jerky movements and subsequent tumble must have been too much too early if his body was protesting this much.

Gingerly, slowly, Anders lifted his weight off of Fenris, and the elf let out a relieved breath, staying put. His anger had fled, and he did not feel like fighting anymore. So, he just lay there, letting the mage do as he pleased.

As he lay there, he became aware that while Anders’ touch was clinical, it was also arousing. The magic was easing the pain and tension from his body, and his body…was extremely grateful, apparently. His blood started to warm, and head to more southern areas. Fenris fought with himself furiously; was he so starved for attention that even a mage’s touch would be welcomed? He tried thinking of Hadrianna naked; it helped, until the mage’s fingers dipped gently over his buttocks and down his thighs, making him shudder and bringing his problem back at full force.

Clinical though it was, it was still starting to drive the elf crazy.

“I care,” Anders whispered, so quietly Fenris almost didn’t catch it. “I do care. You just can’t see it yet. Turn over.”

Fenris didn’t move, didn’t breath. Maker, no…

“I said-”

“I heard you,” Fenris growled, shifting and trying to flatten further against the floor.

He heard the mage sigh above him. “Fenris. We’re both men here. I won’t make fun of you if you have a reaction to my touch. Healing magic is supposed to feel good most of the time.” 

The elf chanced a glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Truly?”

The apostate nodded, face a careful neutral mask. “Healing magic acts as an accelerator most of the time; it speeds along recovery, gives energy to the parts of the wounds that need it the most. It’s only natural for your body to enjoy it.” He offered a bitter smile that did not reach his eyes. “That’s why healers are watched so carefully. For all the good we can do the body, we also know the best ways to harm it.”

“So why haven’t you harmed me?” the elf questioned, propping himself up carefully on his arms. It hurt, but it was a dull pain that he could deal with.

“Turn over, please,” Anders asked, ignoring the elf’s question and reaching out towards Fenris again. As the mage’s hands rested on his hips, Fenris gave up on dignity and pride, and allowed his body to be turned over gently.

His cock had swelled under Anders’ magic, and now that it was free from the confines of the floor, it jutted out proudly. Fenris gulped, fixating his eyes on the ceiling.

“I’ve always known you liked men as well,” he said quietly. Anders stilled, not moving as the elf spoke. Fenris continued, unable to stop now that he had started.

“Your friend, Karl, was your lover, wasn’t he?”

Anders was silent.

Fenris continued, voice lowering to a rumbling hum. “You were so emotional over him, he couldn’t have been just a friend. He was more to you.” He sighed, turning his eyes downward to look at the mage’s head just at the bottom of his vision. Anders’ face was unreadable. 

“Mage’s will always take what they want,” he whispered. “You must have been incredibly lonely after Hawke died.” He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling once more, throat tilted up in offering. “So, what are you waiting for, mage?”

It took a long moment, but soon enough, hands that were not glowing with magic descended on Fenris. He flinched, but held still. What was the point of fighting this? 

He had no freedom, he had no soul, and he had no Hawke. Let the mage get his fill of him before Fenris left this plane of existence.

Fenris let out of a soft moan of pain as the hands gently drifted over his throat; fire burned across his throat, lingering even after the touch had ended. The hands paused, and then repeated the motion, pulling another moan from the elf.

The hands moved on after that, systematically going from one part of the elf’s body to another. The fingers were light, but warm, and despite himself, Fenris was enjoying the gentle attention. His throat was the only place that had caused him pain, and by the time Anders had reached the scars on his abdomen, Fenris was panting with need.

“I…” he trailed off, biting at his lip. He had no place to talk here.

He glanced up as the mage skipped over his erection, skimming down his thighs and legs instead.

Honey brown eyes caught his, and Fenris stilled once more, surprised.

The mage wasn’t even looking at his body. He was just watching his face with a strange, alien look on his face that Fenris had only ever seen when the mage had mentioned cats.

What was going on?

“I do care, Fenris,” Anders said quietly, brushing over the elf’s knees and going over the tops of his feet. This elicited another pained sound, and Anders quickly stopped.

“You were not wrong about my preferences,” the mage continued, standing up and going over to his desk and rummaging around. “But…I prefer my lovers to be willing. You are anything but that at the moment.”

Fenris stared at him, unsure of what to do or say. Anders continued speaking, even as he walked back over and helped Fenris to his feet.

“I doubt you are truly interested,” the healer continued, gently setting Fenris back in bed. “So please do not offer yourself so casually in the future.”  
Fenris nodded silently, and waited in bed while Anders gathered up a potion, and what looked like an old rag.

“Your wounds are healing, but it appears that you have nerve damage on your neck and the tops of your feet,” the mage explained, motioning to the elf’s throat. “The nerve endings were cut in such a way that any heavy touch there will hurt. I can medicate you for it, but I doubt it will truly help. I can’t really heal that. Hands,” he ordered, and when Fenris held them out, Anders set his things on the bed, and drew the elf’s hands into his own, softly poking and prodding them. Fenris stared down at the interaction between their hands- it was vaguely fascinating to watch those larger, whiter hands envelope his darker ones. Soothing, yet electrifying as well.

“You were lucky with your hands though,” he said. “There are tendons on the back of your hands that, if cut, would make it to where you have clawed hands. I cannot fix those either. With proper healing and retraining, you will hold a sword once more.”

“For what purpose?” Fenris whispered.

Anders shrugged, letting Fenris’ hands go. “I’m sure you’ll find something. Here,” he said, offering the jar of mystery potion and the rag. “I’m heading outside for an hour or so to look for herbs. You can take care of yourself while I’m out.”

Fenris blinked at the mage owlishly. He _couldn’t_ mean-

“Just make sure you keep the mess to the minimum,” Anders said, pushing Fenris onto his back and drawing the covers near him in case he got cold. “Cleaning out stains of that nature is always time consuming.”

And with that, the mage left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can all thank my beta doctor for the medical stuff. If it's one thing I've learned from medicine and research, it's don't fuck up your hands! EVER!


	7. Chapter 6

Fenris never mentioned his moment of lunacy, so Anders saw fit to not mention it either, never mind the fact that he had started having much more vivid dreams that involved his dream friend in much less clothing and much more into what they were doing- namely rutting like rabbits in any random local.

He awoke that particular morning as he had the last few- mussed, a little dazed, and with a raging erection from the dream he had just vacated. Fenris, bless the blighted bugger, was still sound asleep in the bed, unaware of the fact that the display he had put on for Anders days before had the Healer a bit flustered.

Anders glared down at his lap, and when his problem didn’t go away, turned his attention to his journal which had acted like a pillow for him. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he read over his notes on Fenris’ condition. For whatever reason, once he entered Healer mode, even his more wayward bits would get in line.

The fever had not returned, even with all of the new emotional turmoil, he noted. After the first fitful night after learning of Hawke’s demise, Fenris had resorted back to relatively normal sleeping patterns. His daily exercises were going along slowly, but Anders wasn’t that surprised. Between the near-death experience, malnutrition, and stress, it was miraculous the elf was making any progress at all. But in anyone else, Anders would have expected more progress.

He glanced over towards the bed, taking in the still form thoughtfully. Fenris’ appetite was slowly growing, so that wasn’t the problem. He had a few theories, but nothing concrete to go on. He would just have to do the best he could with what he had, the mage decided.

Anders closed and pushed aside his journal, stretched, and with a yawn, headed out towards his garden.

It wasn’t a real garden; it was more of a clearing protected by briars and brambles that just happened to have some helpful herbs and plants growing in it, but Anders wasn’t bothered by the pesky details. He carefully sidestepped the briars, and plopped down and got to work.

“Sometimes, I want to wring his neck,” he said some time later to the rabbit that lived in this clearing. Messere Hops-a-lot cocked his head at the mage, munching thoughtfully on come clover. It had never feared Anders, and Anders was loath to send away such attentive company. 

It wasn’t a cat, but it would do.

“Granted, I know he would happily wring mine,” he admitted. “It’s just…I wish he hadn’t seen my journal. I wanted to wait until he was healthier before dropping that on him. Guess that can’t be helped now. Just have to watch and wait.”

That was all he could do now it seemed, he thought bitterly. Watch the elf, watch and wait for signs or clues to whatever it was that had his benefactor up in arms, and wait for further instructions. Starting revolutions, and ridding yourself of spirits, had a price after all.

“Mage?”

“Excuse me,” Anders said to the rabbit, standing and dusting off his knees. “Duty calls. Stay there Fenris,” he called out. “I’ll come to you.”

It took another moment, but once he had exited the briar, he found Fenris standing there, naked as a jay bird and just as contrite as one.

“You shouldn’t wander around on your own like that,” Anders frowned, mind supplying vivid images of what could happen to the elf should he collapse prematurely or if he landed on something breakable or spiky.

The elf merely looked at him, almost appraisingly. Anders fought the urge to fidget under that cool, calm gaze.

“When can I be clothed again?”

“Soon, I’d imagine,” Anders replied, offering an amused smile. “Sure you don’t want to just go au natural full time?”

The elf ignored that comment. “I wish…I wish to return to Kirkwall. I would have you prepare me for the journey.”

“Wait, what?” Obviously Anders had misheard the other man. “You want to go back to Kirkwall? A city teeming with Templars, Seekers, Wardens, Slavers, and Blood Mages?”

“They do not concern me,” Fenris replied quietly. “I wish to go back. Will you help me, or not?”

Mental images of Fenris dragging himself over rocks and debris entered Anders’ mind, leaving streaks of blood behind in the growing darkness while faceless slavers and thieves closed in on him from all sides.

_Bloody hell._

“Fine, fine,” Anders groaned. “I’ll help you. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I sent you off without proper treatment.”

“Treatment?”

“Yes,” Anders answered, heading back towards the hut, Fenris falling into lurching steps beside him. “You will need to slowly build up your strength again, and your flexibility. You’ve lost a measure of both due to your time being ill and those bastards removing your markings. It will take time, but I will do what I can, I promise you.”

Fenris was silent, and Anders sighed. He realized that Fenris had never been the most verbose person he had ever met, but he really wished the elf would speak more; like why he wanted to go back to that pit of a city, how he was going to get there without being picked up by slavers, not to mention how the hell he thought he could make it there on his own.

Anders supposed he would just wait and see, and make a decision when the time came.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fenris wasn’t sure what to make of the mage’s new demands. He cocked his head, eyes narrowing at the man before him, trying to read him as one reads another’s face in a game of Wicked Grace.

“You…are not bluffing,” he realized.

“Nope.”

“Is there no other way?”

“Well, you could do it on your own,” Anders said airily. “But then you wouldn’t be sure if everything was in alignment, and if you mess that up-”

“I get the picture, mage. Very well then.”

And that was how the elf ended up sitting outside for the first time in a long time, in the sunlight, wearing trousers for the first time in weeks, letting the mage get close and touch him.

He couldn’t stop the flinch when Anders’ fingers rested on his back.

“Easy, Fenris.”

Fenris huffed, but relaxed slightly under the mage’s instruction. 

“That’s it,” Anders encouraged quietly, laying his hands on the elf’s back. “Remember, we want to stretch things out. If there is acute pain, it’s too much too soon. Understand?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit!”

He should have been used to the mage touching him by now, but despite extended time with the other man, Fenris just couldn’t erase body memory; the pain had been extreme, and then it had been recently been brutally reinforced. The mage had also not used magic since The Incident, so there was no extreme pleasure to counteract against the memories.

One hand bracing lightly against his right shoulder, Anders led his other hand over Fenris’ arm, stopping at his elbow and gently gripping it.

“How are your scars?”

Fenris considered. “I…feel you touching them, but the sensation is…dulled.”

“No pain?”

“No.”

“Good,” the mage said, and with little pressure, eased Fenris’ elbow forward and down, rotating the whole arm. Fenris was silent, so Anders continued for five rotations before stopping, waiting three counts, and then doing it backwards. Fenris grunted a little, but did not protest. Anders noted that it was stiffer going backwards, and moved on.

They continued in this manner, going from the elf’s arms to his wrists, his fingers, his legs, his ankles, and even his toes. Fenris had not problems with any of this; he endured the touching, because it would help, and it didn’t hurt.

But when Anders reached for his neck, Fenris panicked. He remembered pain, remembered the flash of the knife-

“N-no!” he yelped, falling forward and trying to crawl away from the mage. He froze as Anders’ form carefully covered his, pinning him to the ground. The intimacy of the position, the lack of clothing on his part, the way the mage was tilting his head, lips against his ear-

“Fenris, I won’t hurt you. I know you are sensitive on your neck. However, it does need to be exercised. I won’t touch your marks; I will hold the sides of your jaw, and you will go where I lead. Alright?”

Fenris nodded slowly, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the human got off of him. He sat up, glancing warily at Anders, who was sitting there like nothing had happened, hands outstretched, waiting.

Coward. He was such a coward, why couldn’t he-

_“You always charge in like it’s nothing.”_

_“I…what?”_

_“Even when you could die, you charge in like you don’t care if you die. I like that about you, Fenris.”_

Fenris drew in a deep breath, drew on that courage she had admired so much, and scooted back into the mage’s range.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Why do you want to go back?”

Fenris looked over at the mage, who was working on their dinner. More stew, it looked like, but Fenris didn’t really care at this point.

“Does it matter?” he asked. “I want to go, and you agreed to assist me. There is nothing more than that.”

“Is there?” Anders replied, and Fenris noted with some surprise that the man sounded angry.

“What are you-”

“I need to know, Fenris,” Anders snapped. “I’m your damn healer, I have a right-”

“You have no right,” Fenris cut in softly. “But if it will shut your prattling, I’m going for closure.”

Anders paused in his work. “Closure?”

“Yes. I need to see where she died. I need…” Fenris trailed off, frowning. “I just feel that, if I truly want to do anything else, I need to go to Kirkwall first. I can’t really explain it.”

At least the mage had fallen silent, Fenris thought wearily. Small mercy. Anders was asking him questions, making him think, and Fenris did not like it. He did not want to think. He wanted to get strong again, go to Kirkwall…and that was it. After going so long without any concrete goal, it was a little overwhelming. Anders would help; he had said he would, and even if he was lying, the elf would make sure he would hold up his end of the bargain.

“When can we exercise again?” he asked finally.

“After you eat and rest your belly,” Anders replied promptly. “Three times daily, eventually adding in some stretches and relaxation poses before adding in strength training. I hope you remember how to wield a sword, otherwise you will be out of luck.”

“I remember that much,” Fenris muttered. “This sounds like it will take a long time. Do you have any idea when I could be ready to make the journey?”

“Hmm,” was all the mage said, and Fenris couldn’t get another straight answer out of him for the rest of the night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fenris would be the first to admit that he was not the most patient man on the face of Thedas. He was a man of action, a man of movement. He did not do well sitting on his backside, and he did not do well in cages, gilded or otherwise.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to a month, and eventually, he grew frustrated.

“When can we move on?” he finally asked one day, the exercises finished and Anders once again cooking their meal.

The mage didn’t even bother looking up at him while he spoke. “You are getting better, Fenris. You’ve gained back some of your flexibility, but if we push too hard too soon, we will undo all the work we’ve done, and you could injure yourself to the point where even my magic wouldn’t be able to save you.”

“Load of good it’s doing me now,” Fenris snarled. “It should not be taking this long to heal! Even some of the most grievous wounds are healed by now.”

“I refrain from using magic around you unless absolutely necessary out of respect,” Anders replied coldly. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“You do me no favors by keeping me here,” Fenris growled, pacing back and forth in front of the bed. “I need to move on, but to be stuck here-”

“You make it sound as if I am insufferable,” Anders said lightly.

“You are,” Fenris barked. 

“How so?”

“What?” Fenris stopped, turning to stare at the mage.

“How am I being insufferable?” the man asked, looking up this time, brown eyes looking particularly piercing. “I save you from the brink of death, I let you cuddle me in my cat form, I deal with your grumpiness without complaint, I’m slowly nursing you back to health, and I’ve been avoiding using magic in front of you because I know it upsets you. What, in all of that, causes me to be a pain in your ass?”

Fenris shifted, then started pacing again, remaining silent. There were circumstances not dire enough for him to admit to the mage that being close, touching him, was distracting to the point of madness. The mage’s hands drew reluctant pleasure from Fenris every time they touched…at least three times daily. He had not embarrassed himself again after the first time, but it was still disconcerting when he had realized a few days ago that he no longer flinched when Anders touched him.

“Why is it taking so long?”

Anders shrugged, pooling out their portions into bowls. “I have a theory, but that’s all it is, a theory.”

“I’m listening.”

Anders handed Fenris his meal, considering for a moment while the elf took a few bites.

“Do you know how long your body carried all that lyrium?”

Fenris glanced up, suspicious. “Several years before I made my escape. Why?”

“Lyrium is a potent and dangerous magical substance, as you well know,” Anders said. “Only mages can imbibe the stuff on a regular basis without going mad, it can draw Spirits of the Fade in, it’s used for Summonings. I’ve even been told that it was used in the makings of Dwarven Golems. I highly doubt that it was intended to be branded into someone’s skin. The effects…”

“The effects,” Fenris prompted the now silent mage.

“Fenris, your body was under severe stress from your markings. Even though they gave you all that power, it was probably best for you that they were removed.”

“Oh, so I went through all that suffering for a reason,” Fenris sneered. “Good to know.”

“Listen, you stubborn ass, the markings would have killed you sooner instead of later,” Anders snapped. “Why do you think it is taking you so long to heal? Your body was worn out from the markings. You weren’t just drawing on the energy from the lyrium; you were drawing on your own reserves. Your body is resting now, trying to recover. If you had not had them removed, you probably would either be dead now, or dying.”

“Such a comforting thought,” the elf grumbled.

“You would say that, after what I pulled you out of,” Anders replied softly. “The Magisters are truly cruel to subject less fortunate people to that kind of death. You would have keeled over eventually, without warning, probably from organ failure or a heart attack.”

“I see.”

“Good. Now, do you want me to start using magic again? It will help speed things along, but it is your decision. I’m not forcing it on you when you detest it so much.”

Fenris paused, chewing thoughtfully. While he detested magic still, Anders so far had not hurt him with magic. But while it would help speed along his recovery, it would mean he would have to deal with the same pleasant sensations he had felt before…hence the possibility of more embarrassment.

Yet Anders had not laughed or belittled him for it, then or now.

He swallowed. “We will use magic then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's supposedly canon that lyrium is a lot like mercury- highly valuable and highly toxic, especially in large amounts over prolonged periods of time. Ever hear the phrase 'mad as a hatter'? Mercury was reportedly used in the making of felt hats in the 18th and 19th century- hatters were exposed more to mercury than most others, and they bore the brunt of the side effects. 
> 
> David Gaider (writer of Dragon Age) even said at one interview that someone like Danarius would have to 'maintain Fenris' or else his markings might become unstable. He didn't say much else on the subject, but it's certainly enough to feed the fan fiction writers. 
> 
> In short, this little ficlet of mine showcases what I believe about Fenris' markings- they are bad, they would kill him in the long run, and the only way to not get any worse is to have them removed, even if it means extreme pain. And like mercury, the lyrium will have left it's mark, even when it's no longer embedded in Fenris' skin.
> 
> More medical stuff as well. Mercury can cause heart and organ problems, and with how much stress his body would be under, it would make sense that Fenris would take longer to heal from those wounds than someone who had just received them. The exercises Anders is using is used on the elderly in nursing homes to help them retaining their range of motion and to help keep them moving.


	8. Chapter 7

Fenris had never been very compliant with instructions that Anders gave. He had nearly lost his left arm once when he refused to hold still long enough to let Anders use magic, and he had nearly lost his life when a desperate blood mage had almost drained him, and even then he kept feebly shoving Anders away.   
So it was very disconcerting at how meek and obedient the elf was now that magic was back in the equation.

He wasn’t flinching away anymore, so Anders supposed it wasn’t all bad.

“Easy Fenris,” he murmured, sensing the tightening of the elf’s body as the magic flowed through his supine form. “It’s helping, it’s not going to hurt.”

“Yes,” Fenris replied, shifting slightly.

Anders smiled gently at the back of the elf’s head. He had not been lying when he had told him that healing magic did feel very good at times. What he had left out was that he had never had a patient before that was as sensitive as Fenris was proving to be. Their new healing regime had been going on now for little over two weeks, and each time he finished the session, Anders would leave Fenris for an hour or so for privacy, leaving behind a rag and a small bottle of cream. He himself refused to indulge and actually look over the elf with more than just medical concern; Fenris was not his lover, nor showed any interest in becoming his. Between that, his obvious preference for women and his horrible history with magic, it would be wrong as a man and as a healer to take advantage of the situation.

Oddly enough, whenever he would come back, Anders would see the rag and bottle still in their places, untouched. He wasn’t sure why Fenris wasn’t taking care of things, but unless the elf brought it up, Anders decided not to bother the other man about it. So long as it wasn’t hurting his overall health, then that was in the very distinct ‘Fenris Only’ category.

“You are getting along much quicker now,” he said conversationally, drawing his hands down the elf’s calves. “I think you’ll be able to start a few exercises in the next few days. Over,” he commanded, waiting as Fenris gingerly maneuvered himself onto his back.

Anders noticed, and immediately dismissed, the elf’s tented pants, and reached for Fenris’ chest. Fenris let out a soft noise; not exactly a coo, but something akin to a rougher cousin. Anders knew he would remember that noise later, probably in his dreams. 

_Maker, forgive me._

He finished their session soon after, the glow around his hands fading away as he stood, offering Fenris a hand up. The elf took it after a moment, standing with a grunt.

“I’ll be out in the garden for a bit,” Anders said, heading out without looking back at the other man.

If he had, he would have seen the wistful, albeit confused, look Fenris was giving him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Venhedis!”

He didn’t understand himself sometimes. It was bad enough to be under the mage’s care, but now with his own body betraying him daily…he would go mad, he was sure of it.

Fenris watched Anders leave, just as confused as he was after every session. This man, who had infuriated him, who had stood for what ignorant mages could attain, who was part of a group that Fenris had feared all his remembered life…was making him respond to his touches. He did not flinch from this demon-possessed man anymore. He did not mind his company. 

What in the world was wrong with him?

His erection twitched, bringing him out of his thoughts and back to the problem at hand. Growling, he plopped onto the bed, wiggled out of his trousers, and took himself in hand, stroking slowly. He would rid himself of these distracting feelings, he thought. It was a simple enough need; it didn’t need to be dragged out and relished. Just finish it up and move on. He had not touched himself in a while, and soon enough he was nearing the edge.

Fenris turned his head to the side, burying it in the pillow as he climbed closer and closer. He fought to keep his mind blank, to focus only on the pleasure-

_-a large form draped itself over him, caging but steady and warm. The smell of soap and tea leaves reached his nose, and he groaned softly as a stubbly chin leaned down, scratchy against his cheek. A low, soothing voice whispered in his ear, a calloused hand reaching down between his legs and gripping his cock. The voice chuckled, the laugh echoing out from the flat chest and into the elf’s back as Fenris arched, crying out and pleading for more-_

And with a stuttered gasp, Fenris came, spilling over onto his belly. He lay there, panting softly as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Fuck.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

To say Fenris was acting strangely would be an understatement. The elf, though normally a man of few words, became virtually silent overnight, save for the grunts he made during his exercises, which he threw himself into with much worrisome gusto. 

Anders didn’t really worry about it until it interfered one day with their healer-patient relationship.

“Come here Fenris, I need to show you-”

“I can see fine from here.”

The interjection was unexpected, and Anders blinked in surprise. Fenris had never cared for touch overmuch, but he seemed to tolerate Anders now. Odd that he would shy away from him now.

 _He must be repulsed,_ Anders thought with a pang. _He’s being aroused against his will by something that he hates. I guess I can’t really blame him._

He eventually convinced Fenris to come to him, and to try and help matters, he used his magic more quickly, giving the elf only a brief once over. After their session, Anders excused himself as always. Once he got outside however, he quickly shifted form, and within minutes he was prowling through the forests, loosing himself in the nature of the beast.

When Anders returned to the hut some hours later, he was surprised to see that Fenris sitting at his desk. He cocked an eyebrow at the elf, who was intently reading what appeared to be Anders’ journal.

“Good read?” he asked.

Fenris nodded shortly, not looking up. “Interesting. To see everything from your eyes, that is.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Anders said slowly, eyes narrowing now. “What part are you on?”

Fenris cleared his throat, and Anders couldn’t believe it, but he was blushing. “Margaret the Milking Maid.”

Anders blinked. And then once he realized who Fenris was talking about, he had to find a chair because he was laughing so hard.

“Oh, Maker, that was ages ago,” he laughed. “She was, what, the fourth woman I slept with?”

“Fifth, actually,” Fenris supplied, the edges of his lips tugging up slightly in an effort not to smile. “Anise, Felicity, Sherry, Wilma, and Margaret.”

“I forgot about poor Wilma,” the mage said. 

“I bet she didn’t forget you so soon,” Fenris said, flipping back a few pages and skimming the contents, “Seeing as how you accidently set her bed on fire.”

“I was fifteen!”

“Excuses, excuses,” Fenris sniffed.

“Oh, like you weren’t a troublemaker when you were that age,” Anders grumbled.

“I wouldn’t know,” the elf returned, unperturbed.

“No,” the mage said, deflating a little. “I suppose you wouldn’t. I apologize for that.”

“No offense taken,” Fenris shrugged. “It is what it is.”

They fell silent, and Anders decided to make use of the elf’s suddenly talkative mood.

“You’ve been acting a little strange lately,” Anders prompted gently. “If there’s anything I can do to help-” He fell silent at the loud intake of breath from the elf. 

“You…I, ah, it is difficult to speak of,” the elf mumbled, looking down at his lap. “It’s…very personal.”

“I understand,” Anders offered. “If you don’t want to speak of it, we don’t have to. I just wondered if I did something to upset you. You’ve been so quiet and skittish around me.”

“No,” Fenris said quickly, looking up from his hands and giving Anders a very open, solemn look. “You didn’t do anything. I just…bah,” he snorted. “I…fantasized…about something…and it upset me. It was through no failing of yours.”

Immediately, Anders knew of what Fenris spoke of. Drawing from what he knew about the man, Anders knew that Fenris was a private man. Personal issues, and relationships, were off-limits. And if you added both of them together-

Yes, it all made sense now.

“It’s alright to fantasize about something you can’t have,” Anders said gently, offering an understanding smile when the elf jerked, staring at him in shock. “That’s why it’s fantasy, and not reality.”

Slowly, Fenris nodded. “I…yes. Alright then,” he said, standing abruptly and heading out the door. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later.”

“If you’re not back in ten minutes, I will go looking for you,” Anders warned. Fenris nodded, and quickly left.

Anders shrugged, pulling his journal over and closing it with a sigh.

It figured that the elf would feel terrible about masturbating to his dead lover, the poor thing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was a solemn, quiet day near the middle of summer when Fenris picked up a weapon once more.

“I looked and looked, but I could not find your normal weapon,” Anders babbled. “I know you liked your two-handed weapons, but I suppose this works out because you can start out lightweight and work your way up-”

“The weapon,” Fenris said hefting the long sword carefully “Is not the problem. I will not wear the armor.”

“Oh,” Anders’ brow furrowed in concern. “Is it too tight? Does it chafe? Or is it not tight enough?”

“I will not wear a skirt,” Fenris replied firmly. “Leggings only.”

“Why,” Anders asked with a laugh. “It’s lightweight and gives you room to move. Why not wear it?”

“Because,” the elf replied with a hesitant smile. “I would rather not show my ass off to the world when I fall over.”

“I’m sure the world wouldn’t mind.”

Fenris turned and stared at him, gazing at him for a long moment with a strange look on his face before turning quickly away. “We should move on.”

He waited until the mage was out of range before starting his exercises. He was tentative at first; unsure of his movements and body, he entered every move conservatively, cautiously making sure he did not overextend himself. Soon, however, he was dancing and whirling around, his weapon flashing in the dappled light. He grinned wolfishly; it had been a very long time since he had enjoyed himself like this.

Time passed slowly for him, and he became lost in his dance. It was the only dance he knew, the only one he remembered; he was a killer, not a socialite. Where Hawke and Isabella had once entertained him for an evening with swaying bodies and twirling skirts, he had entertained his master with glowing limbs and blood drenched hands. It was a dance he knew, and though he loathed to admit it, it was a dance he enjoyed.

Now, he danced for himself, with an audience of one. It wasn’t just a reacquainting of his training with his body; it was a statement for himself, that he would go on and see this through. Fenris focused on his footwork, gliding gracefully from one form to another, leaping about and sword flashing as he parried, thrust, and swiped at invisible foes. Sweat built up, sliding down his form and making his skin itch under his armor, but he continued on, stubborn, intent on finishing what he started.

When he did finish, he halted, panting hard, and turned to say something to Anders. His words died before they left his mouth when he caught the mage staring in what appeared to be…awe?

“That was beautiful,” Anders blurted.

Fenris blinked. The mage had enjoyed watching him practice? But he didn’t…didn’t he say before that Fenris could fantasize since he couldn’t have what he wanted? Obviously he was too hideous and scarred for anyone to feel attracted to him now, but now the mage was telling him…he did something beautifully?

Unsure, Fenris coughed a little. “We fight beside each other for years, and you act like this is the first time you’ve seen me wield a sword.”

“Excuse me for not staring back then,” Anders smiled. “Normally I was making sure I didn’t lose my head, and that you and Hawke didn’t lose yours.”

“Ah, a fact I can appreciate,” Fenris said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” the mage shrugged. “That was my job.”

“And what is your job now, I wonder?” the elf mused.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Anders said flippantly. “Shoot lightning at fools, eat a good pie, get handsome elves back on their bare feet. Nothing new or exciting there.”

Fenris gaped at him. “…what?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going deaf now too,” the mage grumbled. “I’m helping you get back on your feet. That’s my job now.”

“Oh. I…I see.”

Fenris realized that he must have misheard the other man. Anders was doing a job, a charity. Giving up on or losing the elf now would be a wound to the mage’s professional pride.

And he most certainly did not just call him handsome. Obviously Fenris had been in that forest for too long. It was time to move on.

“If you want to make it to Kirkwall this year,” Anders said, as if hearing the elf’s thoughts. “Then we need to find passage on a ship quickly. No sane captain would sail after autumn begins.”

“There will be someone in Minranthous,” Fenris replied, stripping out of his clothing. “I’ll leave tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow?” Anders squawked. “Are you kidding me? No, you’re not ready-”

“I can properly defend myself,” Fenris snapped, throwing down his leggings and standing before the mage completely bare, too annoyed to care about nudity. “I will not be delayed any longer. If I don’t make it, then that solves a lot of my problems, doesn’t it?” He stalked into the hut, intent on a quick sponge bath.

“I guess that means I’ll just have to tag along,” Anders called from the doorway.

Fenris dropped the wet cloth with a plop, cursing nastily under his breath.

“I’m fairly certain my mother did not do that with a horse,” Anders said primly.

“Why would you follow after me?” Fenris snarled. “I’m well enough to go on my own. You’ve done your duty; I thank you for saving my life, healing me, and setting me back on a path that I can follow, but I am not some child to chase after!”

“I am well aware of that,” Anders said quietly. Fenris paused, ears pricking up at the other man’s tone. It was just…the way he said that, as if he…

Angry now at his train of thought, Fenris snarled, “Then why are you insisting on following me?!”

“Because I want to go back now as well,” the mage shrugged at the elf’s disbelieving look. “You’re not the only one who needs closure. And since we’re going to the same place, and know each other, might as well go together.”

“On your head be it then,” Fenris said.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys arrive at Kirkwall.

A good night’s sleep did not temper Fenris’ patience the next morning, and he spent most of the time snapping and snarling at Anders to hurry up with the packing, while the mage seemed content to go about it at a sedate pace.

“Mage, we do not have time to waste,” Fenris groaned. “Please, hurry up.”

“I need to make sure we have everything we need,” Anders replied, calmly stowing potions into his bag. “Got everything except my pillow and the note,” he muttered to himself. “Right. So I’ll be along in a moment Fenris. Get yourself dressed.”

“Note?” the elf queried as he pulled on his trousers.

“For a friend who is supposed to check up on me soon,” the mage said lightly as he began to scribble out a quick message.

“You’re bringing a pillow along?” Fenris asked as he tugged his shirt into place. “Do you think our accommodations on whatever ship we book passage with will not be lavish enough?”

“I’m rather attached to this pillow,” Anders said, setting the letter aside and gathering his pack. He offered the elf a small, sad smile. “It’s all I have that belonged to my mother before I was taken to the Circle.”

Fenris cocked his head, frowning slightly, but he nodded. “I…can understand wanting to hold onto something that links you to your past.”

Anders gave him a quick nod, and with that, the pair left the hut, shutting the door behind them.

Several hours later found them on a ship leaving Minranthous, bound for Kirkwall. It was the start of the longest month of Fenris’ life.

He had been on ships before, but never for such a length of time. Two weeks was the longest he had endured at sea, and even then he was all too happy to hobble back onto dry land. At the current time, he would be weeping and kissing the ground when he saw it again. Between the first few days of sea-sickness, Anders, the rat infested quarters, Anders, the horrible hard tack, and Anders, Fenris was seriously considering swimming the rest of the way to Kirkwall by the third week. 

It wasn’t that Anders was being insufferable on purpose; he was there to make sure Fenris made it to Kirkwall without hurting himself. He watched over the elf, and continued their sessions in the privacy of their shared room. That was still embarrassing, but the mage still had not teased or ridiculed him on his reactions, so Fenris allowed the sessions to continue…he just never took care of himself, even when the mage left him to his privacy. It was still a kindness, albeit unneeded, that the elf appreciated. Anders had even managed to make a special tea to settle the elf’s stomach, to which Fenris was infinitely grateful for, since he was no longer spewing the contents of his stomach over the side of the ship.

But sometimes…the mage was a bit much.

“What are you doing?”

Anders glanced up from the small bowl of milk he was placing on the floor of the cargo hold. “I’m putting out a little milk. I miss having a cat.”

“I doubt there is a cat on this boat,” Fenris sighed, ears easily picking up the small tell-tale scratching of rats in the walls. “You’ll just attract the rats.” In fact, he doubted if this particular vessel had ever seen a feline; the rats were brazen and huge.

Anders grinned. “That would make you happy.” 

Fenris had, in desperation, started a game to combat his boredom; whack-a-rat, as Anders called it. If boredom struck (which it did quite often) the elf would grab one of the mage’s boots, and lay in wait after dousing the lantern. When a bold vermin skittered too close or even ran over his foot, the boot would come down. Sometimes the mage would join in, never really saying anything other than exclaiming happily when he managed to bludgeon one.

It was one of the few things that he and Anders enjoyed doing together.

“Old habits die hard I suppose,” the mage said, drawing Fenris from his thoughts on the rodent problem. “Oh, and stay away from Niles, the bloke with the one eye. I don’t like the way he’s been looking at you.”

That was a decidedly random change in the topic. 

“Since when do you care?” Fenris snapped, irritated that the mage did not seem to think he could handle a randy sailor. “You have no claim over me. Maybe I’m encouraging his advances.”

“Are you?”

“Er…No.”

“Good. He’d be bad for you. I know the type; randy for anyone with a pretty face, willing or not.”

Fenris didn’t really care what Anders thought at that point and soon left the mage behind in the cargo hold, intent on grabbing some fresh air and some quiet. No one would bother him; he wasn’t part of the crew who had duties to attend to, and he would make sure to stay out of the way of any sailors on deck. No one would bother him, he thought assuredly. 

Of course, it turned out the mage was right, and said one eyed sailor was currently breathing down the back of Fenris’ neck. “I love you elves,” Niles chuckled, his breath foul. “I can always make you scream so nicely.”

In another time and place, as a different person, Fenris would have been flattered. Niles wasn’t bad looking, if one liked hardened, scruffy sailor men. The man had a strong jaw line, sandy brown hair and a single blue eye that gleamed with what some would call wicked mirth. 

But, alas, this was the wrong time, place and the wrong elf.

“I’ll make you scream if you don’t back off of me,” Fenris stated calmly.

“Oh, come now sweetheart. I just want a little bit of fun, put a smile on your face-”

“I am _not_ your sweetheart,” Fenris growled, bristling. 

“Oh, you got some bite, I like that,” Niles chuckled, and Fenris nearly jumped out of his skin when the sailor reached down and squeezed his ass.

Fenris wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but one minute, Niles was behind him, then there was a loud snapping sound… and the next-  
Fenris turned, and blinked at where Niles once stood. 

“…a toad?”

“Well, the Templars were always joking about mages turning everyone into toads,” Anders said, emerging from the shadows. “I didn’t think it’d actually work.”

“What were you hoping it would do?” Fenris asked, picking up the toad and gazing at the shocked creature curiously. It was Niles alright; it had his square jaw and only one eye, which was gazing at the mage in what Fenris could only describe as pure toady fright.

“Oh, I think part of me was hoping I’d set his hair on fire, but I was also hoping for a little indigestion.”

Fenris sighed, shoved the toad into the mage’s hands, and went back downstairs. Whether or not Anders changed Niles back or not, Fenris stayed below deck for the rest of the journey. However, he did manage to overhear the mage asking another sailor quite cheerfully if he knew whether or not toads could swim.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

When at long last the distinct shapes of the weeping slaves of Kirkwall’s Gallows appeared on the horizon, Fenris appeared like a ghost from the hold and would not leave the deck of the ship. Anders stood with him with their bag of supplies, lips pursed tightly at the sight. He had changed his hair color, going over each strand carefully with charcoal, and he had shaved. He carried no staff that would identify him as a mage, and he had traded in his normal feathery attire for simple trousers and a shirt. Fenris was grateful for this; the less trouble they caused, the quicker they could move.

Memories flashed before Fenris’ eyes as they carefully walked the city streets, slowly making their way from the docks to Hightown. There was the Alienage, where he had first met Hawke. There was the Hanged Man, where he played a weekly game with Varric and Donnic. There, there, there…

“We’re here,” Anders whispered.

Fenris looked up, stilling as he took in the scene before him.

Where once the Chantry of Kirkwall stood, now there was a wide expanse of empty ground, dotted with memorial candles and flowers. Silence was observed, reverence for the dead, he noted as he watched a small group of people shuffle through, heads bowed respectfully as they said quick prayers for the departed.

He took a shaky step forward, shoving away Anders’ helpful hand. He walked forward until he reached the center of the memorial, where someone had placed a simple, plain plaque:

**_We will never forget the injustice done here. Champion of Kirkwall, this city will never forget you._ **

That was it, he realized hollowly. This was all Hawke got for dedicating nearly ten years of her tears, sweat, and blood to this wretched city. The city had first tormented and degraded her and her family for being refugees, then it had proceeded to place of all its’ problems at her feet. She had laughed and cried over this pit, had battled an Arishok, had spent weeks bedridden after the battle, had fought tooth and nail to keep it from falling apart…and this was all the Maker-damned city did to honor her?

He started to shake, whether from rage or indignation, he wasn’t sure. Ridiculous. It had to be a joke, a large prank-

“C’mon,” a voice whispered. “C’mon, let’s go-”

Fenris shuffled along, not really listening or paying attention to whoever was leading him onward. It…why was she gone? She couldn’t be. The mage, the city, everyone was lying to him. He wanted to see her with his own eyes, ask her why she did what she did, and ask her why everyone was lying about her. He wanted to see her to ask for forgiveness for failing her, for leaving her, for fantasizing about another person, another _man_ -

“Well, this looks vaguely familiar,” the voice said, breaking through the fog of the elf’s mind. He glanced up, blinking slowly as he recognized his former place of residence. Anders was beside him, watching him closely. _As always,_ he thought.

He didn’t fight Anders when the man led him upstairs to his room, or when he started helping him out of his clothes. Fenris moved mechanically, and when Anders quietly ordered him to sit, he did without hesitation.

He watched blankly as Anders bustled around the room, dusting out the bed sheets and blankets, and getting a fire going. He did not argue when the mage then shooed him to bed, telling him that he’d wake up the warrior once dinner was ready.

Fenris crawled into his old bed, curled up under the covers, and fell asleep.

It was days before he awoke once more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Fenris,” Anders called softly. “Fenris.”

The elf did not, would not, stir. He had been dead to the world for three days now, and it was getting worrisome.

One full day in bed after a long journey was normal; two is you added grief and stress to that equation. But three days of uninterrupted sleep was never a good sign, and Anders was going to find out why the elf was unresponsive.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, crawling into bed beside the elf, curling around him, and promptly falling asleep.

The Fade popped up almost immediately, and Anders was relieved to see Fenris beside him. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, however, when he realized that this was Fenris’ dream, and it was a rather private one.

It was Hawke’s old bedroom; a fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, her journal was open on her desk, the lute was next to the bed... And there she was, lying naked and spread out on her bed; looking up at a completely enchanted Fenris with one of the sweetest expressions he had ever seen on her face.

“Fenris,” she said quietly.

“Hawke,” he breathed, stepping closer. “I…I am sorry…”

“Shh,” she said, motioning him closer. He crawled into bed, stopping short of actually touching her.

“Fenris, you need to wake up,” she said gently, eyes flicking and capturing Anders’ gaze. “You’re worrying your friend.”

“I have no friend besides you,” the elf whispered. Anders turned away, swallowing hard. That…actually hurt more than it should have. He looked back up when the lady tsked.

“You are blind Fenris,” Hawke chided gently. “But you have been here for too long already. Go back, and live.”

“But,” Fenris said. “I…I do not know, do not know what…”

“I am sure you will find something,” the Champion said. “And if not, stick with your friend.”

“Who?” 

Hawke made a disapproving noise, shaking her head. “Idiot boys,” she snorted. She sighed, and leaned over, kissing the elf gently on the mouth. Again, Anders ducked his head and looked away. He looked up when the Fade started shifting, signaling that the dreamer was about to awaken.

“Hawke!” Fenris cried out, reaching for her fading form. “Please, I’m sorry, come back, I won’t upset you again, I promise, I-”

“I can’t,” the ghost whispered. “Forgive yourself, and stay with your friend. That’s all I ask of you.”

The dream cut out, and Anders awoke in the real world, curled around a now sobbing Fenris. Unsure of what to do, Anders just pulled the elf against him tighter, rocking him gently and quietly trying to soothe him with gentle words.

“You!”

In the blink of an eye, Fenris had rolled on top of the mage, eyes wet and blazing with fury. “You did this,” he hissed, hands reaching for Anders’ neck.

Anders merely lay there, staring up at the elf sadly. “Yes.”

“You killed her.”

“Yes.”

“I trusted you,” Fenris roared. “I thought we could…” he broke off, snarling in Tevene and starting to curse everything and everyone from the bed they were currently on to the Bride of the Maker herself. Anders merely lay there, unspeaking and unmoving.

“You took away the one person who, who believed in me, who thought I was worth something,” Fenris said, hands clasping around Anders’ throat and starting to squeeze. He wanted the other man to struggle, to beg, to fight and flail for his life…and he wanted to see the light leave his eyes.

He had taken _everything_ from him.

“I think you are worth something,” Anders whispered, still making no move to fight off the angry elf. At that, Fenris’ fingers stilled.

“What did you say?”

“I said I think you are worth something,” Anders repeated, soulful brown eyes unwavering from hard green ones. “You think you aren’t, but you are. How many men could have survived what you’ve gone through? How many could have traveled as far as you did, with a man like Danarius after your hide? How many could capture the attention of such a remarkable woman?”

“How many men would have left her once they had her?” Fenris asked, looking pained now.

“You had your reasons, I’m sure,” Anders said gently. “I’m not asking about that. Fenris, Hawke is gone…but I’m not.”

The elf stared down at the mage, face crumbling into sorrow once more, his shoulders trembling. His hands fell from the other man’s neck, and he didn’t fight Anders when the mage gingerly rolled them back over onto their sides, pulling Fenris flush against him and whispering softly to the elf.

Fenris struggled for a moment, but when the mage didn’t let go, he stopped trying to escape, buried his face into the sheets and howled his grief into their dusty confines. Anders let him, falling silent once he realized that Fenris could not hear him. Instead, he focused on touch, running a hand comfortingly down the warrior’s back.

Eventually, Fenris’ sobs quieted, and then he stilled, occasionally sniffing and shuddering. Anders, carefully, leaned over, lips against the other man’s ear.

“You may not believe or want this, but I am a friend, Fenris. Let me help you if I can.”

Fenris didn’t answer for a moment, and Anders used that time to start running a hand gently through the elf’s hair. He had always wondered about the feel of it, he mused idly. It was softer than he had imagined, and felt pleasant to run through his fingers. The motion seemed to draw Fenris out of his thoughts, because he coughed and shifted a little.

“I…suppose food would…be acceptable,” he croaked.

“Then I shall bring you food,” Anders said.


	10. Chapter 10

They stayed in Fenris’ mansion for several days, Anders patiently tending to the elf as he always had. Fenris was functioning, but it was mechanical; he was still grieving, in his own way, and Anders tried to give him room to do so. Their days were quiet; Anders would usually go to the market to buy food, and Fenris would work on his reading, and two times a day they would do their sessions. At night, they would talk quietly in their armchairs in front of the fire about whatever came up: the first night, it was how little Kirkwall had changed. The next, they touched briefly on their favorite memories of Hawke.

“I rather liked it when she told me to just hand over the maps she needed for the Deep Roads,” Anders admitted. “It annoyed me that she thought she could threaten me, but I thought it was funny because it seemed so out of character.”

“You would be right in that assumption,” Fenris said, sipping his wine. “She actually debated how to approach you before we reached your clinic. I…might have encouraged her to be bolder than she normally was.”

“Ah, so I have you to thank for that lovely introduction!”

“You could say that,” the elf said, smiling sadly. “I was rather fond of those times whenever we would all go to the Hanged Man for drinks in the evening. Even if it had been a trying day, she just…lit up whenever everyone was together. We were like her family, I thought.”

“We were,” Anders said quietly.

Fenris looked up at him, eyes forlorn. “Then why did she…?”

“She was sick, Fenris,” Anders answered gently. “There…there were signs before you left, but it became more pronounced once you were gone. She became completely unhinged.”

“Why?”

Anders sighed, sinking deeper into his armchair. “That is the great question, isn’t it? Humans can lose it for a variety of reasons, but her? I think it was a combination of grief and stress. She had no family left, Isabella had run off for years before coming back, Merrill was spending more and more time with the mirror, Aveline was bogged down in her duties, and I was losing myself to Justice and the mage underground.”

“But I was there,” Fenris whispered.

“She might have thought you would leave after you finished off Danarius,” Anders said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have, obviously, but…she didn’t see that, I think. I don’t know, I can’t say for sure what was going on in her head.”

They were silent for a time before Fenris spoke again.

“Do you think it would have been different if I had not left her?”

Anders looked over at the other man, taking in the elf’s wistful expression, and his heart sank. “Perhaps,” he admitted quietly. “Who’s to say?”  
They again fell silent, until Fenris abruptly stood with a grunt. “Apologies then, healer.”

“For what?” Anders asked, watching the elf carefully as Fenris stumbled towards the bed, shedding clothing as he went.

“It would seem you didn’t kill Hawke,” Fenris said, so quietly that Anders almost didn’t hear him. He crawled under the covers, burying himself under the sheets. “I did.”

~ ~ ~ ~

After Fenris’ declaration the night before, Anders kept a closer eye on the elf. He worried that Fenris would take a turn for the worse and would actually attempt to harm himself. 

Yet throughout the next day, Fenris went about his normal routine without fuss. It was a little disconcerting, but the mage decided not to look a gift Mabari in the mouth.

That night, Fenris did do something rather odd, however.

“May I see your hand, Anders?”

The request in and of itself was odd, but so was…

“You…called me by my name.”

“Yes.”

Anders stared at the elf. What sorcery was this? Yet the elf held no malice in his eyes, and he was waiting patiently for the mage to either comply or ignore his request.

Besides their sessions, Anders did not Touch Fenris. Not that he didn’t want to – Fenris was still as desirable to him as he had always been - it was just that he respected that Fenris did not Touch nor liked to be Touched.

Slowly, holding his breath the entire time, he reached out towards the elf.

Fenris met him halfway, and it was with surprising tenderness that his hand caught Anders’. Anders fidgeted a little as the elf drew him in closer, thumb gently stroking the inside of his palm. 

“I used to read palms once,” Fenris said, turning the mage’s hand over and brushing his forefinger down the palm. Anders shivered, the touch both ticklish and…intimate.

“A nomadic Nevarran group once offered me food and shelter for a few days, if I earned it.” He smiled down at Anders’ hand, and Anders shuddered again. “Your hands are not mage hands,” Fenris continued, ignoring Anders’ movements. “I can feel the dips in your skin from the thorns in the garden.” He drew his long finger down the line that started at the mage’s smallest finger and faded away quickly into nothingness. “You were not destined for marriage. You wouldn’t enjoyed being tied down.”

_Oh yes I would,_ a snarky voice piped up in the back of Anders mind. _Especially if you were the one to tie me down._

Fenris continued, finger drifting further up along the palm towards the skin below the next finger. He massaged the skin there, eliciting a soft grunt of surprise and pleasure from Anders. “You seem to have a good, if easily misguided, heart,” the elf said. The finger skittered down and back towards the flesh of the hand below the pinky finger. “Your head is…not as strong as your heart. That gets you into trouble quite often.”

“Tell me about it,” Anders grumbled.

Fenris offered a quick smile, but continued, the single finger dancing across the mage’s palm towards a line that curved between the thumb and first finger. “Hmm, your life has been difficult up to now, but…” Fenris blinked, and chuckled. “Well, it looks like things might smooth out for you.”

“Maker, I hope not, I’d get bored,” Anders exclaimed. “What’s life without an occasional maiming? Those really make my Tuesdays something special.”

The elf snorted, his damned finger sliding right into the middle of the palm, again earning another pleased shiver from Anders.  
“Your fate is undecided,” Fenris muttered, almost to himself. “Too many variables, too many what ifs…”

“Thank you, that’s very reassuring.”

Fenris looked up, head cocked. “I was told I was fairly good at this. Equal parts intuition and equal parts misleading. People came wanting to know their futures, when all hands can do is show you your past.”

“May I ask what brought this about?”

Fenris blinked, seeming to notice that he was still holding Anders’ hand, and abruptly dropped it. Anders fought back a disappointed sigh.

“I…was feeling whimsical, and thought I would indulge.”

“You know, if you wanted to touch, all you had to do was ask,” Anders teased gently.

His eyes widened when the elf blushed and looked away. Well, now that was interesting.

“It is late,” Fenris said quickly, before Anders could say anything. “I’m turning in.”

Anders waited until Fenris had climbed into bed, and then changed into his tiger form, climbing into bed and curling up in his spot. He had done this since the beginning, and even in Fenris’ old bed, the elf did not protest. He seemed to take comfort in having a furry form against him while he slept, and more than once already Anders had awoken to a gentle hand running down his pelt or from a friendly scratch behind his ears.

Tonight, something changed. Tonight, when Anders had settled in for the night, Fenris had scooted closer, and gingerly wrapped his limbs around the stripped animal.   
Touch starved, Anders surmised, easily relaxing under Fenris’ hold. It made sense now why the elf might have ventured to touch Anders; just because you feared or disliked touch didn’t mean you could live your life completely free of it and be truly happy. People needed to touch one another, even grumpy elves who would probably rather swallow their great swords than touch someone they hated.

With that mystery solved, Anders drifted off to sleep, happily grumbling in his sleep as the elf petted him.

Over the next few days, Fenris became bolder in his touches, and Anders was all too happy to let the elf do as he pleased – mainly to make the elf more normal in terms of social interaction, he told himself. 

_Of course, it’s not like I don’t enjoy it when he decides to touch me. I enjoy it a little too much, actually._

It didn’t take Anders all that long to realize that perhaps Fenris wasn’t the only one who was touch starved. He wasn’t used to diagnosing himself, but when he thought about it, it made sense. His abrupt induction into the Wardens, months on the run, and then years scurrying around Darktown did not lend to making human connections. But Maker, what a windfall it seemed now…A hand on the shoulder here to catch his attention, a brush of elvhen fingers through his hair to get it out of his eyes, and Maker, the cuddling in bed at night.

A gentle hand ran down his back, and the mage fought the urge to let out a happy groan. He was human again, but pretending to sleep. The elf seemed bolder when Anders was asleep, and Anders wasn’t quite ready to ‘wake up’, and end the farce.

_Am I so desperate for touch and affection that even the thought of snuggling is enough to make me as giddy as an apprentice who just passed his Harrowing?_

The hand repeated the motion, harder this time, digging into the muscles of his back through his clothes and easing the tension there.

_Oh yes._

“You frustrate me, healer,” Fenris sighed quietly. Anders still did not move, and was rewarded when the warrior continued.

“I’ve spent nearly a decade hating you and what you are, and yet it was you who helped me when I needed it the most…and I find that I…I do not mind your company.” The hand drifted lower, now rubbing into the mage’s lower back, eliciting a soft groan from Anders.

“I…I am puzzled. I should not feel such things for a mage, an Abomination…” he heard the elf sigh. “Abomination,” he muttered. “I must have lost what common sense I had when Danarius removed the markings if I am still hanging around something like you.”

Anders tried not to let the remark hurt, but it did sting a little – even if it was no longer true.

“Bah,” Fenris snorted, fingers digging deeper into the clothing and skin of Anders’ back. “What does it matter? You’re a handsome man, I’ll give you that.”

_Be still, my beating heart!_

“I do wonder if you are the friend Hawke mentioned,” the fingers stilled, and Anders nearly shuddered when the elf’s breath tickled his ear. “Are we…friends?”

_I’ll be whatever you want if you keep this up._

“I did not lie when I said she was the only friend I ever had,” Fenris murmured, pulling away. “I…would like another friend.”

When Anders finally rolls over to say that, no, he would not mind being friends and perhaps something more if the elf was inclined…Fenris was gone.  
Swearing roundly, Anders buried himself deeper into the musty mattress, cursing both his timing and Fenris’ ability to disappear at will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anders had just made it back to the mansion with a basket of market goods when he was rudely interrupted.

An accented, honey voice purred from the darkness. “You do realize, of course, that mi amora would have you watched after the last time you were under her command, yes?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” Anders replied. “That’s why I left a note.”

“Notes do not excuse you from your post, my friend,” the elf said, stepping from the shadows with his blond head cocked. “Although if I were in charge, I would forgive you for following after that fine specimen of a man.”

“He is currently my patient,” Anders said. “I couldn’t in good conscience leave him to his own devices just yet.”

“Oh really,” Zevran chuckled. “So the fact that I have watched you both making subtle overtures has nothing to do with that, eh?”

“That’s none of your business,” Anders snapped.

“Fair enough,” the elf shrugged. “I will be watching you and later escorting you back to Ferelden.”

“Ferelden?” Anders questioned, frowning thoughtfully. “Was abandoning my post that serious or are things falling apart back home?”

“Neither, I fear,” Zevran grinned, looking like a pleased cat. “Mi amora has an idea, and she needs your…consultation for it.”

“I see,” Anders said.

“I doubt you do,” the assassin cackled. “But I’ll be waiting by the docks when you two lovebirds are ready to depart. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“We’re not lovers,” Anders sniffed. But the elf was already gone.

“Did you call me?”

Fenris was standing at the top of the stairs, looking sleepy and confused. Anders offered a small smile. “No. I was just talking to myself. I brought food,” he added, hurrying over and ushering the other man back into the bedroom.

He encouraged Fenris to eat as much as he wished, though he rationed out the wine carefully. Fenris didn’t speak much, but it wasn’t a bad silence.

_I’m starting to learn his different moods and silences. Wonderful._

“Do you want me to draw a bath?” Anders offered. Fenris glanced up from his chunk of bread, considering a moment before nodding. 

“That would be appreciated, Anders.”

Anders stayed outside the bathroom while Fenris cleaned up (just in case the elf needed help), and once Fenris was out, drained the water and drew a bath for himself. He didn’t heat it like he had for Fenris’, and once he was in the tub, sunk deeper into the water, and delved into his thoughts.

First things first, he had to make sure Fenris was recovered enough to take care of himself; physically he knew he was, but after watching his…friend sleep like the dead for three days, nearly being strangled by him, then comforting a sobbing wreck, and then dealing with an overly touchy elf, he felt that Fenris’ emotional state might not be all that stable.

When he knew Fenris was stable, then he could leave guilt free.

_Ah, but you don’t really want to leave him, do you?_

The downside of not being joined with Justice anymore was that sometimes odd voices would pop up in the Spirit’s place, and they were not always welcome.

“Of course I don’t,” Anders mumbled, grabbing some soap and starting to scrub. “He’s a former comrade and a…friend. Aren’t friends supposed to want to be around each other?”

_You don’t want to be just around him, you knave. You want to be with him, in him, on him, beneath him-_

“Shut up,” Anders hissed, scrubbing harder. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Are you alright in there?” Fenris’ voice said from behind the door. “You didn’t drown yourself, did you?”

“No no,” Anders called out. “I’m fine, just talking to myself again.”

Silence from the other side of the door for a moment before he heard the heavy patter of Fenris walking away.

_This is ridiculous._

“I am ridiculous,” Anders sighed, dunking under the water and coming back up. 

_What’s so ridiculous of wanting to love the man you’ve been aching for for years?_

“Let’s see, he has a bad history related to magic, he still thinks I’m an Abomination, he’s probably straight, and he’s in mourning for a remarkable woman that I wanted myself. What, about any of that statement, is not ridiculous?”

_History can be rewritten. You could tell him the truth, like a good friend would. You don’t know if he just likes women, since he can’t keep his hands to himself. Time will help, but so will knowing that there is someone else interested in him. He’s obviously interested in you!_

“Enough,” Anders sighed, pulling himself out of the tub. “I’m not going to think about this anymore tonight.”

And he didn’t. At least, not until it was time to turn in for the night.

“Come to bed as yourself,” Fenris said quietly, not noticing the mage freeze. “I…would not mind human company…if it is to your liking.”

_It’s to my liking a little too much._

Anders swallowed. “Okay.”

He wasn’t sure why, but this time curling up to Fenris felt more intimate than all the times the elf had been naked. Maybe it was because he had asked for him, or because of his own dark thoughts. Either way, it took some time for Anders to relax enough to fall asleep.

When he awoke once more, it was to screaming.


	11. Chapter 11

Voices flitted in and out around him, drawing his attention but not holding it. They were ghosts, spirits, nothing more, and didn’t they always tell you to not talk to spirits? There were benevolent spirits, of course, spirits that could offer strength and support to a Fade-Walking mage, but outside that realm, one wasn’t supposed to deal with them.

He had failed that lesson spectacularly with his joining to Justice, and he had paid a hefty price for that mistake. Granted, at the time, he didn’t really have a choice- join with Justice or die from the wounds he received from the Templars. He had accepted, and he was still paying the price. He did not want to repeat it- he had nothing more to lose, for starters, he thought distractedly.

Why was he distracted? 

His concentration was nearly nonexistent, he realized. Thoughts formed and flew away before he could grasp them and understand them. Shapes formed and vanished before his eyes, even though they were closed and he shouldn’t be seeing anything in this darkness.

It’s odd, but he could feel the pain coming before it arrived, and it was with a soft sigh, not a scream, that marked the beginning of eternity for him.  
They were starting off easy on him – they had brought out the whips. Two templars took turns pulling their arms back, and letting the leather coil and snap out, catch on and breaking the skin of his bared chest. He could feel the tug, the bite of the whips, but…it is strange.

Odd…everything is off, unreal, yet…

He could feel the pain, knows it is there, but it’s not…working like pain usually does. He’s not focused on the moment or the feeling of the whip cutting into his skin. He’s…it’s almost like he’s watching it happen to someone else, and he isn’t really concerned because he knows it is just an act, a play, and that the actor is not really being tortured, it is just part of the acting and adds drama to the performance. He pulled his head up when they paused in their ministrations, barking and snarling…dogs, they were dogs, and he couldn’t understand them, even though he should have…

_I will watch over you…_

Anders blinked, eyes opening for the first time, looking over the helmeted head of his cruel keepers. He smiled gently at the pale figure standing behind them, eyes dropping closed and his head lolling forward as the whips started cutting into him again.

_I am with you, Anders._

“I know,” he mumbled.

_Hold on._

“Can’t. Hands’re tied,” the mage slurred. It was so hard to talk, to focus on anything-

He let out a raspy scream as one of the Templars stepped forward, and doused his wounds in what Anders started to pray wasn’t what he thought it was-

_Anders…it SINGS…!_

Lyrium. They were dousing him in Lyrium.

The intense agony brought his clarity back for a precious few moments, before he was finally blessed with unconsciousness.

~ ~ ~ ~

Waking up was both the easiest and hardest thing Anders had ever done, especially after what had been poured on him and the agony it caused. And yet, he managed, and he was relieved for a short time to find that when he opened his eyes, it was dark, and he was alone.

There were no windows in this cell, which helped to disorient his sense of time. It was part of the process to wear down a prisoner, and this was what Anders dreaded the most. Beatings, physical torture he could stand – he had learned, over time, how to accept the pain and work through it. His mind was his fortress, and he could bear any physical pain better than most.

But he had never managed to keep himself completely sane in the dark, over long periods of isolation. Add to the time disorientation on top of that, and given enough time, he would panic. He always did.

It was bad enough being here, it was worse wondering about what had happened to Fenris. He remembered falling asleep next to the elf, had remembered curling up to the warmth that he instinctually recognized as ‘prickly bastard elf who secretly loved cuddling’, and then…he had awoken here.

How had this happened, and why didn’t he remember anything? What if they had surprised Fenris and had hurt him? What if he was all alone in that mansion, dying, because Anders wasn’t there to heal him-

He prayed for Fenris’ safety, and then his own. He did not want to die here; he had too many things to do, too many things to get done, and…he missed certain people. Just a few – no large number, he thought fervently. Just…one or two or three.

Well, maybe more like seven or eight, but that still wasn’t that big of a number, was it?

He nodded off, dreaming of happy faces, and warm touches.

Hours, days…they passed without word or touch or even the flicker of a shadow of another person, and Anders, despite knowing better, began to cry out.

Even though he had survived it, he did not like being alone in the dark. He had worked through his fears during his years in Kirkwall (Darktown was rather aptly named) but this…this was too much, even for him.

“Please…someone…anyone,” he rasped. “I’ll…tell you everything I know!”

Magic words, those were, he thought with relief when the cell door opened. His captors stepped inside, and despite the fact that they both carried various torture devices Anders couldn’t stop the sigh of relief and his smile at their return.

Even though it would be painful, he never wanted to be alone again.

~ ~ ~ ~

He drifted, in and out of…the world? He wasn’t sure. Everything was messed up in some shape or form. He was either in pain, choking on a liquid in his mouth, or Fade Walking. The two worlds were starting to blur together, and it was getting more and more difficult to tell them apart. 

He couldn’t remember much, not after…what had happened? He had…he had been…

_Please, hold on Anders._

Anders? Who was Anders?

He turned to the being who had spoken, and offered a confused smile. “Friend? Who are you-”

_Anders. You are Anders._

He considered for a moment, ignoring the tell-tale tug in the back of his mind that meant his unconscious body was being harmed once more. “Is that really my name? I can’t seem to remember anymore.”

The glowing figure seemed to consider him for a long moment. 

_What of the elf?_

Elf? What elf? Now he was very confused. There was no elf. Was there?

_The one who you hated, and who hated you. The elf who sang with the song of lyrium in his skin. The one who both infuriated you and inflamed your basest passions. The one you worked for weeks to save from his own broken body and spirit._

…wait. That…that was stirring something…in the back of his mind. He didn’t have a picture, not a clear one, but he remembered…a voice? Yes, that was it, he decided. A voice, deep and low with a burry quality to it that could make you shiver either in fear or…expectation.

That elf…he was…

“Fenris.”

_You are not truly lost yet. If you hold on just a little longer, you will have justice, I swear this to you._

Anders was about to ask more, to demand more, but he was pulled from the Fade abruptly, painfully, and he awoke on the stone floor of his prison, staring up blearily into the helmeted faces of his torturers. 

They reached out to touch him, to move him, and he offered no resistance, even though his spirit cried out for freedom from their deadly hands, the hands that bound him here, that bring back-

Memories…

He remembered his time in solitary, and after; he had been even rasher after his confinement, and had lost any and all of his impulse control. His fuse was shorter, he was much quicker to anger, and he could not stop being overly paranoid, sticking to walls and never turning his back on anyone.  
And all that had happened without the delicate touch of his current captors.

They were talking again, and using the moment of pain to gather clarity, he understood them a little.

They were telling him what they planned to do to him. It would be a long time before they would put him out of his misery and make him Tranquil.

They brought out more of the lyrium, and the last coherent thought Anders had before the pain began once more was the wish for one last glimpse of the outdoors, or one last whiff of fresh air.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_Anders…heal yourself._

He cocked his head at the figure, the request not really registering.

_Anders, you must heal yourself. Or you will not last long. Already the lyrium is blistering your wounds…_

How? How was one…

Oh. It was there, within reach, and it felt completely natural to draw from that calming font of strength and to just let it expand and engulf him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the waking world, the templars were rendered speechless as the apostate’s wounds, previously having been glowing blue from the lyrium, faded to a normal red color.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

Memories become waking dreams…or do his dreams become memories? He wasn’t sure, but he was…frustrated? Yes, he was frustrated by them. They flitted in and out of existence, even when he was sure he could hear, smell, even taste them. He could even feel the whisper of air against his skin when they brushed past him.

He started to look forward to these vivid dream memories that were fantasies…or something like that he didn’t much care to ponder it. They offered an escape from his hell, and they wasted time while he…waited for something? Perhaps, he thought, or perhaps not.

Currently, he dreamed…

A fire crackled in the background, but except for the warmth it exuded, he didn’t notice it. He was too focused on his lover, his heart, his-

“Fenris,” he purred.

The elf groaned softly, but didn’t protest when Anders pulled him against his chest, lips descending and leaving soft kisses over the warrior’s face. They were naked, obviously having just finished with something that had been undoubtedly fantastic because of Anders’ experience and Fenris’ broodiness and enthusiasm, and…and Anders wanted his cuddles.

“You are insatiable,” the elf murmured, the statement lacking any vitriol or energy. Anders let out a happy sigh when Fenris nuzzled his neck, tongue laving gently at his sweaty skin.

“I missed you,” Anders replied.

“As I you,” Fenris agreed. 

“Thank you for saving me,” the mage said, quietly this time. “I don’t know what would have happened…if…”

“Hush, dear heart,” Fenris murmured. He tightened his hold around the mage. “I will let no one else take you from me again.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He was awake when another fantasy started. These waking ones were disorienting due to the pain he was in, and the way everything felt so…so hot, and bothersome, and it was hard to concentrate on anything…

First, it began with a horrible, loud screeching noise that made him shudder in pain. When he opened his eyes, the door he was used to seeing…gone. It was…gone?

Yes, that seemed to be true in this daydream, he realized.

His captors went flying by him, and he watched them crack against the walls with detached amusement. If only that could actually happen…oh, he would love it if it did, but he would enjoy this for what it was.

A dagger breezed by him and embedded itself in the neck of one, and he watched with pleasure as the templar choked on his own blood.

Anders winced, flinching away from the brown form that reached for him, his eyes unable to properly focus, it was…too much, too soon…

“Anders,” a voice called softly.

That…voice. He knew that voice, he did, he was sure of it, but…where had he heard it before?

“Ko…kom…” he said. He frowned, trying to focus long enough to say it properly. “Come…into the light,” he tried again. “I would…see who I’m dreaming of.”  
The form slowly shuffled into the light of the candles, and Anders beamed.

“Ah, you again Fenris,” he chuckled, leaning against the wall he was propped against. “Ah, and you brought Zev too?” he added as the assassin too stepped into the light. “If I didn’t…know any better, I’d say this…was shaping up to be…interesting…dream?”

He was losing his focus again…everything was starting to waver-

He was brought back to earth as he was pulled against cold armor; he whimpered, the plating freezing his skin and irritating his wounds. He was hastily pulled away, and it was a low, rumbling voice that was muttering softly in his ear, sounding almost…comforting.

He forced himself to look up into the face of his dream rescuer, and offered the stern-faced yet concerned looking elf a smile.

“I suppose I owe you a kiss of gratitude, my knight,” he teased. 

Of course, the only reason he teased was because he knew that what he saw wasn’t real. It never was. He had been here…for a long time. He wasn’t going to be rescued, not now, not ever…but it was still nice to pretend, if only for a little while.

“Save your kisses for later, healer,” the elf replied, and Anders was delighted to note that the ears on the other man were turning red. How cute. Dream Fenris had always been confident, and assertive. This one was…awkward. And adorable.

Anders couldn’t wait for the ravishing scene. Maybe he would ravish the elf for a change?

“As much as I would enjoy watching any sort of carnal interaction between you two fine gentlemen, we should move quickly, before their boss decides to come and check on their progress,” the other elf said, motioning to the still bodies. “And then you can ravish each other, yes? Preferably with me watching!”

Anders had to commend his imagination for such fine details. That was exactly what Zevran would say – something incredibly inappropriate at the wrong time.

“If you will keep the way clear, I believe I can carry him,” Fenris said.

The world tilted and spun before righting itself, and Anders found himself curled up against the elf’s chest. “You’re very strong,” he said, amazed. He wondered if that strength would be put to use, and then began to wonder how he was supposed to trigger the romance scene. Being rescued was all well and good, but he wanted to skip to the good part-

“You are…very light,” the elf said, almost gently. “Have you not been fed?”

“I don’t like what they feed me here,” Anders chuckled. “Hopefully my next hallucination will include food…and some wine…” he paused, staring up at the elf’s face, and getting a sly look on his own. Perhaps something sly and sassy would trigger the bedroom scene? 

“…and perhaps a bed to share with my handsome rescuer.”

He cackled happily at the elf’s choking sound. Oh, this was one of his more fun delusions. Still no bed though. Damn.

“You are…” the elf paused, considering his next words as he carried Anders through a dim corridor. “Insufferable. You are unwell, and do not know what you are saying.”

“Of course I know what I’m saying,” Anders exclaimed, feeling a little more on the ball now that he was out of that one room. Already the world seemed infinitely bigger!

Now if only he could find a big bed!

“Obviously you do not.”

“I do,” Anders repeated. “I know handsome men when I see them, and you are handsome.”

The elf stared down at him, beautiful green eyes blinking at the mage and looking very…confused? Yes, that was it, Anders decided. He was like a puppy sometimes- a bloodthirsty, scarred puppy that was extremely grumpy, but still an adorable puppy.

“We should move on.” 

“Yes,” Anders nodded, serious now. “I wouldn’t want to bed you here. Too many…bucket heads.”

Again, the elf made that strangled noise. Anders frowned a little; where was confident, sexy Fenris? Oh well, he could work with this one. Slowly, of course- wouldn’t want to break the elf’s little mind with some of the things Anders definitely wanted to do with him. The electricity trick was just one simple trick he had in his arsenal. 

Perhaps a few sweet, sincere comments to loosen the other man up?

“You’re actually really sweet sometimes, you know that?” he grinned up at the suddenly suspicious elf. “You wanted to know if we could be friends? Of course! But, if you want, we could…dive further than that, together.”

“Hmph,” Fenris snorted. “The mage continues to speak nonsense.”

Okay…maybe something much more blatant?

“If you want,” he purred, “I could suck you off.” He smirked at the harsh intake of breath from the elf, but continued. “I would lick and suck you slowly, driving you wild, and when you came…I would suck down every last drop you had to offer, and I would kiss you, letting you taste yourself on my tongue. I would devote myself to you, thoroughly and utterly, and I would deny you nothing and give you everything; no matter how tame or depraved it was.”

“You, you, you,” the elf stuttered. “...be silent and stop saying such things!”

Anders blinked and then pouted. “You’re such a prude.”

“Please, healer, be silent…for the sake of my sanity.”

Anders fell silent as requested, gazing up at Fenris thoughtfully. “Can I kiss you?” he asked after a moment.

“What?”

“I said, can I-”

A hand clamped over his mouth, and he stared sadly up at stern green eyes.

“Healer, you have been in the hands of those templars for three weeks four days and thirteen hours. They have not fed you well and have tortured you. You feel feverish and you are not acting like yourself. You have no idea what you are saying; if you still wish to…to kiss…me,” he stumbled, and Anders patted his hand supportively. “Then we will discuss it when you are fully functional again. Now, please, please, stop talking. We need to get you on our ship and out of here before reinforcements come, and I can’t concentrate on my job when I have you propositioning me.”

Anders nodded his head sadly, and stayed silent when the hand was removed.

Well, he didn’t get to ravish or be ravished, he thought as he drifted off, but at least he got to snuggle with the elf, so it wasn’t a total loss.


	12. Chapter 12

By the time they made it to the boat, Fenris was ready to kill Zevran.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate what the assassin had done to help; indeed, he was under no illusions that he could have gotten to Anders without the other elf’s help. He was excellent at being sneaky, knew how to pass by the guards without drawing attention to them, and he was deadly with his blades.

But that didn’t give him permission to ogle his mage, or make salacious comments.

“They are always so adorable when they’re cuddly, yes? I’m not sure if it’s a Warden thing or a mage thing, but it is amusing. My Warden is just so sweet when she’s had a long day of work, and she hogs the blankets-”

…well, maybe not completely salacious, but he still had no business making those comments-at least not within earshot of Fenris.

“Come, my broody friend,” Zevran called, motioning to the waiting ship. “I have a good friend onboard who can take care of our injured mage. Come, come!”

His ‘good friend’ turned out to be an older mage who, despite being advanced in age and looking very tired, took in Anders’ appearance with clear and intelligent eyes.

“Follow me,” she said crisply. “Zevran, would you be kind enough to let the captain know we’re ready to set sail?”

“Anything for you, my dear Wynne,” Zevran said with a flourish and a bow. The elder mage didn’t even blink at his display. “Go on, you cad,” she shooed.

After he had dashed off, she motioned for Fenris to follow her, and led the way down some stairs into the hold of the ship.

Fenris watched her closely, not quite willing to trust her. Mages, despite what Anders had showed him, were dangerous – especially ones of unknown quality. After what had happened here, in this city, Fenris was not going to leave anything to chance and risk his mage again.

“As you may have guessed, my name is Wynne,” the woman said, ushering him into a small windowless room with only a bed and a chair. “I’m a mage from the Fereldan Circle. When I was…a bit younger,” she smiled wryly. “I taught Anders. He was one of my better, if more mischievous, students.”

“You taught him the healing arts?” Fenris asked, surprised. He gently set the unconscious mage down, eyes never leaving Wynne.

“He was a natural, and one of the few that took real joy in mending what was once broken.” She looked down at the man in question, smiling sadly as she took in his state. “If you leave him with me, I will look after him.”

“I will stay,” he said quickly.

“You don’t trust mages, do you?” she said, yet he didn’t detect any bitterness in her voice; just sad acceptance.

He held out a bare arm, the scars coming into relief under the lamplight. “Would you, if this is what had been done to you, among other things?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said, surprising him. “But…I can see you are starting to realize that all mages are not so bad,” she added, smiling at his surprised look. “I’m old, elf, but I’m not blind…yet.” 

“You see much, then,” he replied wryly.

“Sit,” she urged him, pointing at the chair. “We’re in for a long vigil.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Fenris had never been much for the healing arts; he knew enough to stem his own lifeblood until he could retreat to someplace quiet and either wait it out, or seek out a healer, or more recently, Anders. He knew the body functioned together as a whole, but he could not tell anyone what various parts of the body did by itself, save for a few important exceptions. He, overall, knew little of healing; he was much more used to slaughtering and wounding, not saving and mending.

Watching Wynne work reinforced this; she muttered things under her breath, medical speak that made Fenris feel even more alienated than before. He watched her closely when her hands started to glow that all-too-familiar blue color, and when she started moving them over Anders’ relaxed frame, he had to rein in the urge to swat her hands away.

 _She is trying to help,_ he told himself sternly. _She was his mentor, she wants to help._

He tried telling himself that he wanted to protect the mage because of what the mage had done for him in his greatest time of need; he was grateful and wanted to return the favor tenfold. But…he kept thinking about what the mage had whispered to him on the way to the ship.

_“I could suck you off.”_

Such a simple phrase should not affect him so, but as time dragged on, Fenris was unable to resist going back to the mage’s…vivid descriptions.

 _“I would lick and suck you slowly, driving you wild, and when you came…”_

Well, that description certainly spoke for itself, Fenris thought with a shiver.

 _“I would suck down every last drop you had to offer, and I would kiss you, letting you taste yourself on my tongue.”_

That…was a bit disturbing, actually. The whole idea of the mage…sucking him was…intriguing, but still slightly disturbing. And then tasting his own seed? Intriguing, but slightly off-putting as well.

_“I would devote myself to you, thoroughly and utterly, and I would deny you nothing and give you everything; no matter how tame or depraved it was.”_

That statement was the one that simultaneously pleased and frightened the elf; he would be lying if he said he didn’t…desire…the mage. But what the man had offered was…incomprehensible. True and complete devotion? To him? 

He looked down at his hands, eyeing the thin spiraling network of scars. Why would someone desire him? He had nothing to offer in that aspect. Intimidation? He could do that without really trying. Protection? He loathed it, but he could do it as he had been trained. Killing? All too easily.

But…what Anders wanted…

No, he thought with sudden clarity. Anders did not know what he wanted.

This idea was reinforced once Wynne finally retreated from her patient, looking waxen and almost dead on her feet. “It was a close call,” she muttered as she slowly walked towards the door. “Between the infection in his wounds and the lyrium they poured on him, he should have been dead days ago.”

“Lyrium?” Fenris asked sharply. “They poured lyrium on him?”

“I found traces in his wounds, yes,” Wynne said tiredly. “Luckily it was just processed lyrium; if it had been raw, he would have died almost instantly. No, they wanted to keep him alive, but in pain, and possibly delirious.”

“What now, mage?” Fenris asked.

“We wait, elf,” Wynne snapped, inclining her head towards him. “I will be visiting the captain if you need me. I’ll trust you to watch over him. I’ll be back to check on him in a few more hours.” He watched her leave, turning his attention back to Anders once the door was shut. He considered the mage for a moment before standing, and dragging the chair closer to the bed.

It had been a while since he had been able to stop and rest, he realized. Every moment Anders had been missing, Fenris had known that the chance of ever seeing him alive again diminished. He would have to thank the assassin later, both for his tactical help and for keeping Fenris grounded and focused. But now…sleep sounded wonderful, as he had missed out while searching for his mage. Even if there had been time, he doubted that he would have been able to sleep soundly; he was reluctant to admit it, but he had grown used to the mage sleeping beside him. Anders was safe now though, so that was all that mattered – safe, and out of templar hands.

Without a word, he rested his arms on the edge of the bed and laid his head down, falling asleep almost instantly.

Sometime later, he slowly started to awaken, becoming more aware as he felt a delicious tingling on his head. Fenris let out a low hum of approval, still mostly asleep but awake enough to feel the wonderful sensation of his scalp being gently scratched.

“Who’s a pretty kitty?” a voice cooed.

That was _quite_ enough. 

Fenris opened his eyes, turning his head and offering the awakened mage a glare. “You did not just call me kitty.”

Anders beamed at him, though the smile was diminished by how tired and pale he looked. “Sorry Fenris, it seems that I’m projecting onto you. I’ll try and avoid that in the future.”

“Good,” the elf huffed.

“Would you like some milk?”

“You’re terrible,” Fenris chuckled.

“I know,” Anders said. He considered the other man for a moment, reaching hesitantly again for Fenris’ head. 

The elf froze, watching the hand for a long moment before closing his eyes and laying his head back down on his arms – right under the mage’s hand.

He wasn’t sure how long they were down there, him trying to sleep while the mage cooed over him and petted his hair, but he knew it was going to be a long voyage, so they certainly had time to spare.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Amigo, you seem much more…at ease,” Zevran said the next day as he and Fenris walked about the deck. It was habit for both of them – they were men of action, even on small vessels. If they had to sit still longer than absolutely necessary, they would go insane. Or, at least Fenris would. He wasn’t sure if the assassin truly did need the exercise to calm him or if he just wanted to try to bait Fenris.

Either or both seemed equally as likely.

“What of it?”

Zevran shrugged and offered a grin. “You hardly rested or ate when we were figuring out where the healer was and how to get him. Now you seem at peace. Is it because he is safe now?”

“Yes,” Fenris admitted without hesitation. “I owe him my life.”

“Ah, that I can understand,” the other elf said sagely. “Would you believe me if I said that I owe my Warden the same sort of debt?”

“Yes, I would,” the warrior shrugged, ducking under some fastened rope. “Great people tend to draw others like ourselves to them, and we end up owing them debts that we cannot hope to repay.”

“Eh, I agree with you on that, though your mage has yet to kill anything as serious as an Arch Demon,” Zevran laughed.

“He doesn’t need to,” Fenris replied. “I will follow him regardless.”

“Such devotion,” the assassin noted. “Have you taken him up on his offer for his services? A handsome man like that can’t be resisted forever, unless you’re not of the same mind.”

Fenris halted his progress, almost staggering to the side when the ship hit a rough patch of sea. “I- what?”

Zevran turned, giving him a coy, knowing look. “What, you thought I didn’t hear all that? If we had actually had any other templars on our tail, they would have either laughed themselves silly or would have uncomfortably exited the area to seek out a cold stream.”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Fenris said coldly, continuing on his way around the ship.

Zevran smoothly slipped in front of him, halting his progress once more with a raised hand. “Amigo, it is my duty for the time being to keep an eye on your mage,” he said, voice much lower and for Fenris’ ears only. “I make it my business to know what he may or may not have as options for escape, and that includes lovers. I have watched you both for some time before he was captured, and I know you are both interested. The pair of you would be a formidable team, and I’m just trying to make sure he…doesn’t slip away again. Your Anders has a nasty habit of doing that.”

“We’re not lovers,” Fenris growled quietly. “He can do much better…except you. Don’t touch him or I’ll remove your…” he paused for a moment, considering how to word it. _“Cojones.”_ He finally said, making a hand motion to go with the word.

“Oh ho, what is this?” Zevran said, smile turning into an appreciative leer. _“Reserve mi cojones, por favor._ And so humble, I never would have thought! Amigo, what makes you think there is better than you, hm?”

“What do I have to offer?” Fenris grumbled. “Besides my sword arm.”

“So, you think that you are…woo-less? Let me count the ways you are not. For starters, you do have a lovely voice,” Zevran said, raising a hand and listing off on his fingers. “You are tall and strong for an elf, even though I know you are not fully recovered from your last ordeal. You move too stiffly,” he said at the shocked look Fenris gave him. “You look like you should be much more graceful, and there is a hitch in your swing when you go to decapitate someone. Anyway, you have a very striking appearance, and though they are scars, they do accentuate the lines of your body quite nicely. Oh, and your protective streak isn’t off-putting at all.”

Fenris stared at the other elf for a long moment, and then growled loudly, stomping around the assassin, and continuing on his way.

Zevran watched him go, cackling happily.

Fenris spent most of his free time watching over Anders. When Wynne requested it of him, he would help move the normally unconscious mage around, either to help bathe him or to move him so he would not develop bed sores. He actually delighted in helping; it seemed all too fitting that he return Anders’ favor, bit by bit.  
Under the combined care of the elf and elder mage, Anders recovered quickly, to the delighted shock of both Wynne and Fenris.

“Oh, this is just wonderful,” the elder mage said a few days later, checking over Anders’ wounds. “You’ll be ship-shape by the time we make landfall.”

“Wynn, did you just make a joke? Careful, you can’t have too much fun,” Anders teased. “You might throw out your back.”

“I’ll have as much as I want, even at your expense,” she retorted. “Fenris, stop brooding and come out of the shadows and sit down already.” Grumbling under his breath, Fenris did as she asked, settling into the chair next to Anders’ bed.

“I’ll leave you two alone then,” Wynne said after another moment, gathering her supplies and leaving, closing the door behind her.

Fenris turned to Anders once the door had latched, eyeing and looking his mage over critically. Besides wearing a pair of trousers, the mage was bare of any other clothing save for a blanket; the wounds had needed to air out, Wynn had told him when he had questioned. Magic could help speed along the process, but some things just needed to work out themselves. His chest bore the marks of his abusers; countless red lines crisscrossed from his collarbones down onto his belly; it was miraculous that he had not been cut open, the elf noted. Anders’ fever had broken the previous day, and clear and aware honey brown eyes returned Fenris’ glances steadily.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” Anders replied quietly, breaking the gaze and looking down at his lap. “I…Zevran…he told me what I said to you,” he said slowly.

 _Fastas vas,_ Fenris cursed inwardly. 

“If I made you uncomfortable Fenris, I’m sorry,” Anders added with a rush, looking up at him earnestly. “I was delirious, certain it was just another hallucination-”

Fenris held up a hand, effectively silencing the mage. “It is alright. I understand.”

“You do?” Anders asked. He narrowed his eyes. “Or do you?”

Fenris merely raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I’ve been told your overall condition by a qualified healer when you boarded this vessel. I understand completely; you were not yourself.”

The mage stared at him, mouth slightly ajar. Fenris frowned, leaning forward and gently grasping Anders’ jaw. He felt the days of stubble, felt the slight pulse of the other man’s quickening heartbeat. He felt the other man still beneath his fingers, heard the absence of the others’ breath-

He closed the mages’ jaw with a gentle snap. “You’ll catch flies like that,” he said gently.

“Fenris-” 

“Healer,” he replied.

“I…can we…talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” Fenris asked with a small smile.

He watched, amused as his mage attempted to glower at him, with little success. “I just…I realized something, and I thought I’d get it off my chest while I could, and while you still have options.”

“Options?” Fenris asked carefully. “What options?”

“We’re on a boat, heading for Ferelden,” Anders pointed out. “When we land, you could easily find employment and seek passage elsewhere, or you can continue on foot to wherever the urge takes you.”

Fenris stared at his mage, the man he had started to – no, best not dwell on that.

“You’re…letting me go?”

“You’ve always been free to leave Fenris,” Anders said wearily. “Wynne could continue your exercises until we land, if you don’t want to be near me. I wouldn’t want to assume – I mean, I don’t-”

“Perhaps we should continue this later,” Fenris interjected swiftly. “When you have all your thoughts together-”

“No,” Anders said firmly. “I’m making a mess of this, but I will spit it out, even if it kills me.”

“I’d rather you didn’t die on account of words that could have waited,” Fenris said, starting to panic. Maybe if the mage couldn’t get the words out, then Fenris wouldn’t be forced to leave his side-

“Fenris, I believe I am mostly myself now,” Anders said, looking back down at his lap. “Could we…discuss that kiss I owe you?”

Fenris stared at him, uncomprehending. “…what?”

“I’msosorry,” Anders immediately started babbling. “I don’t even know where to start…” he trailed off, looking at Fenris helplessly.

Curious despite the possible outcome, Fenris did what he knew would make the mage spill more; he remained silent, and waited.

Anders started gushing at once.

“I’ve…always liked you, Fenris,” he admitted, worrying at a hole in his blanket and avoiding looking right at Fenris. “The moment you walked into my clinic, behind Hawke, I…I felt drawn to you, to the both of you. And then you started speaking, and I realized it would never work between us, because of what I am and what you had been through.

“At first, I wanted you both. Then, Hawke…” he trailed off, looking up at Fenris. The elf nodded, understanding; Anders had seen signs of insanity before anyone else had, and it had put him off.

“After the Deep Roads, when you came back, it was like…I can’t explain it, save that the reason I liked to pick fights with you wasn’t to prove that all mages should have the same rights as other people of Thedas; I just…I just wanted your attention, for good or ill. I ached every night for you, despite what Justice told me; that you were a distraction, and a dangerous one.”

Anders…had desired him? That was…very unexpected. “Your demon did not like me,” Fenris said sharply, trying to stay focused on the topic at hand.

“Not really,” Anders said with a small smile. “He loved the lyrium you carried around, and…you made him feel true pity instead of righteous anger. He thought it was a shame that you could not be swayed to join us.”

“‘Thought’?” Fenris queried. “Has he changed his mind, now that he has helped you start the revolution you so desired?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Anders said quietly. “I am not an Abomination anymore.”

Fenris moved without thought, one hand reaching out and gripping Anders’ throat while the other hovered over the mage’s chest, a dagger in hand where once the hand had been empty. He pressed it over the mage’s heart.

He stared into that man’s eyes, watching for any sign of flickering blue in those warm brown eyes. Instead, all he saw was the surprise, then acceptance in Anders’ gaze. The gaze didn’t waver, fear did not enter those orbs, and Fenris felt a lurch in his chest.

How? How was this possible? How did…?

“Fenris,” Anders said quietly. “I think that I lo-”

The dagger was tossed aside, the raised hand coming down, and firmly latched onto the man’s mouth, silencing him. “You do not know what you say, healer,” Fenris said softly. He held Anders’ gaze, unmoving. “You do not…want me. There are better people out there, better mages even, who would be excellent lovers for you. I…I am not.” 

He slowly removed his hand, continuing when Anders stayed silent. “Anders, I am a broken elf with only broken pieces of my past and the clothing that you gave me on my back. I am not appealing to the eye, I can barely read, and I lack certain…experiences. I have nothing to offer you.”

There, he had said the magic words. The mage would move on, and Fenris would follow, if allowed, and then-

“I don’t care,” Anders said. “I just want you.”

Fenris stared. Surely he had misheard? Why would the man want him? He decided that he needed to go seek out the elder mage to see if his hearing was acting up and started to back away.

He didn’t get very far before he was stopped, Anders reaching out and grabbing his arm firmly but gently, and pulling him back to his side.

_No, no, no. This isn’t right, why is this happening? I should stop him before he makes a mistake and hurts us both-_

And then chapped, dry lips met his, and all of his thoughts vanished like smoke.

Compared to his other kisses that he remembered, this was…sweet, and rather chaste. There was no tongue, no all-consuming passion. There was just a gentle pressure on his now-tingling lips and an iron grip on his arm, holding him in place.

Anders drew back after a moment, and when his lips left, Fenris’ own felt decidedly bereft. He licked his lips thoughtfully as he watched Anders settle back in bed.  
“That had to be done,” Anders said after another moment. “I thought actions might speak louder than words to you.”

“They did,” Fenris coughed, slowly sitting back down in the chair. Once he was settled, Anders seemed to relax, and smiled at him.

_He thought I was going to leave._

“I…am unsure of my feelings,” Fenris admitted, ears lowering apologetically. “I desire you, but…I don’t…”

“It’s alright,” Anders said gently. “I wasn’t expecting a confession, Fenris. I just wanted to get my feelings out in the open, so you can decide what to do.”

“I will follow you.”

He could see that his answer surprised the other man, and continued. “I owe you a debt that I cannot hope to repay, and I would see to it that you are not taken advantage of by your Warden Commander.”

The mage snorted. “Please, Fenris. Not even you could stop her if she wanted to use me for whatever mad scheme she has planned this time. If she wants it, it is inevitable that she will get it, no matter who or what stands in her way. Did you know that when a Warden slays an Arch Demon, they die?”

Fenris frowned at that. “Then, if she killed it, why is she-”

“Still alive? Quite the question, that,” Anders nodded. “I personally think she looked the Maker right in the face when He came to collect her, and spat at him.”

“Are all mages from the Ferelden Circle that spirited?”

“Only the pretty ones,” Anders said with a wink.

Fenris blinked. Had the mage just-?

“Anyway, where we go with…this,” Anders waved his arm vaguely between them. “I’ll leave up to you.”

“Truly?” Fenris asked, head cocked curiously.

“Truly,” Anders nodded. “I wouldn’t do anything that would be uncomfortable for you.”

The elf considered for a moment. Being with Anders…well, he certainly enjoyed it. But he needed time, and space, to consider his options.

“I…will need time, healer,” Fenris said, standing stiffly. “I need to clear my head and think things over.”

“Okay,” Anders whispered as the warrior walked out of the room, latching the door shut once more.


	13. Chapter 13

“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Anders chanted, hitting himself upside the head with his journal. He’d been doing this for a while now, having started after Fenris had bolted off.

“Shouldn’t have told him,” he grumbled angrily. “Whatever happened to baby steps? I should have- bah, I don’t know. This is ridiculous, I can’t believe I-”

He sighed, cutting himself off. It would do no good to berate himself on his actions now; what was said was said, and he had left it up to Fenris to do with as he would. In all honesty, that was probably the best that he could do right now. Even though he had never really…had these sort of feelings before…he wasn’t one to force his lovers (or potential lovers) into a corner. He had hated being subjugated when in the Circle, and it was just plain rude and barbaric to not show some care to someone you liked enough to chase upstairs and dive into bed with.

So he would wait on Fenris, even if it meant the elf would never talk to him again.

…He _really_ hoped the elf would talk to him again.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nervous about something.”

Anders glanced up at the door, frowning at his former mentor. “I may have blown any chance I had with someone I liked. I’m allowed to be nervous.”

“Hmm, well as your healer, I suggest that you remove your worry from your mind, and focus on healing,” Wynne said, stepping into the room and making a beeline for his bare chest. “Let me see you, child.”

“I’m full grown now, thank you,” Anders said, pulling the blankets down from his chest as requested.

“You’ll always be a pup to me,” Wynne replied, a hint of fondness in her voice as she looked him over. “Well, these will scar, but they should fade a little. I’m certain they won’t affect your romantic overtures in any way, shape, or form.”

“If I make any,” Anders said glumly. “I’m not making a move if he doesn’t want me to.”

“That’s quite gentlemanly of you,” Wynne mused. “Just make sure you don’t hesitate when the time comes, or he will think you’ve lost interest.”

“You’re a fountain of wisdom Wynne,” the man laughed.

“Of course I am. Someone has to have some sense on this boat,” she snorted. “Might as well be the old bat.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He was left alone for several hours after that, with only his thoughts for company. He shifted in bed, wincing slightly as the heat flared warningly in his chest. He wanted to go outside, get some fresh air, be around someone, anyone. This was starting to make him feel cagey, and it was all too close a resemblance to his time in solitary back in the Circle. Granted, his cell didn’t tilt and shift like the ship did, and he certainly saw and interacted with more people, but this extra alone time did not suit him at all.

He could still hear what those damn templars had said to him, even if it was only in bits and pieces. He could still feel the whip cutting into him-

Enough. He couldn’t take this anymore.

He was halfway to the door when it opened and Fenris stepped inside. He took one look at the mage, cocked an eyebrow, and pointed firmly at the bed.

At least there was someone there now to keep him distracted. Grumbling, Anders climbed back in as Fenris settled into the chair.

“You did not tell me you had released your pet spirit,” Fenris said after a moment.

Anders nodded. “It just never seemed like a good time,” he admitted. 

“When you first saved me would have been a good point,” the elf said wryly. “Or any time between then and now.”

“You had other things to worry about,” the mage argued.

“And now I just have you to worry about instead,” the elf countered sharply.

Anders winced. “I ran to my Warden Commander after Kirkwall. Justice was gone; he had been twisted into something else completely at that point. And I realized that I couldn’t continue to live with him still inside me, still entwined with me as he was. If anyone was going to help me separate from Justice, it was her.”

“You succeeded,” Fenris supplied.

“Yes, we did,” Anders nodded. “And because of that, I’m now subject to her demands, and she keeps an eye on me.”

“The assassin,” Fenris said with a start. “He mentioned something about watching, but I thought-”

“Yes. He’s been keeping an eye on me since I relocated to Tevinter. That’s how he got to you so quickly after the templars took me. He knew my history of running, and wanted to make sure I didn’t give him or his Warden the slip again.”

“That’s why you couldn’t escape them,” the elf breathed, understanding now. “I had been wondering why you had not called upon him to aide you.”

“It’s rather difficult when you don’t have a passenger anymore,” Anders chuckled.

Fenris considered him for a moment. “What is it like, to not have the spirit inside you anymore?”

“Lonely,” Anders replied promptly. “It feels like I’m missing a piece of myself, a little voice that would speak to me when no one else would, who would agree with me on the important things but argue semantics.”

“It is lonely,” Fenris mused. “I…wouldn’t want you to feel that, Anders,” he offered awkwardly. “After all you’ve done for me, I would always consider you…a friend.”

Well, that was adorably sweet of him, Anders thought with a small smile. Unthinking, he reached out and nabbed the elf’s hand, thumb and forefinger massaging the muscles there.

Fenris stilled. Worried, Anders glanced up, stilling his own motions.

“It is…fine,” Fenris said, stiffly. “I do not mind your touch. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Cautiously, still keeping an eye on the elf’s face, Anders started the massage again. He relaxed when Fenris did, the elf’s eyes drifting closed in pleasure. Anders gently tugged him down, and the warrior settled on the edge of the bed, still under the spell of the mage’s fingers.

They did not speak for some time, both enjoying the simple pleasure such a touch brought.

“I will make sure you are not left alone,” Fenris said. “If…if that is to your liking.”

“Thank you,” Anders breathed, bringing the elf’s hand up and kissing the inside of his palm gratefully. Again, Fenris stiffened, and Anders immediately dropped his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly. “I just-”

“It is alright, healer,” Fenris interjected quietly. “It was unexpected, but not unappreciated.”

Fenris left soon after, leaving only when Wynne came in to check on him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anders didn’t see Fenris again until nearly three days later; the elf stormed into his room as if on a mission. Granted, the way Fenris usually walked, literally claiming the space around him, made this seem normal. But the determined look in his eye was…thrilling.

Anders blinked up at the elf, taking in his appearance. “I didn’t know you could swim.”

Fenris glowered at him, hair plastered to his head and neck, leathers creaking loudly with each movement. He smelled strongly of fresh air, sea salt, and what Anders suspected was fish guts. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, eyes landing on the other man’s arm.

“What in Andraste’s bloody name happened?” he asked, shocked and upset at the red river of blood trailing down the elf’s sword arm.

Fenris took a deliberate step towards Anders’ bed. “I have thought about what we discussed,” he said curtly.

Anders felt nearly two inches tall, shrinking into his blanket and sheets. This did not bode well.

“I have…been unable to think of little else,” Fenris continued, standing before Anders, within touching distance. “Tell me to go, and I shall.”

“Go…take a bath?” Anders ventured timidly.

Fenris blinked, lifting an arm after a moment and taking a whiff of himself. His head jerked back, a snarl on his lips. “No! I- I meant,” he stammered, huffed, and tried again. “Anders,” he said slowly. “I have been unable to dismiss you from my thoughts, no matter what I do. You invade my rest, and I still find it unbelievable that you are interested. You’re the second person I’ve ever known to have cared for me, and you’re the only one I’ve ever really _needed_ …and wanted.”

Anders gulped, unable to respond verbally to that. The look Fenris was giving him…equal parts fear and desire. Fear of rejection, but the desire was there in equal measure, warring with the terror, and currently winning.

_Maker have mercy on me, I’m just one mortal man!_

“I wouldn’t dare try to make a claim on a man such as yourself, but…if you are amiable,” Fenris continued after a moment. “I would…like to try. To be with you. If you are of like mind.”

“What did you have in mind?” Anders said, finding his voice at last.

“My last…relationship started and ended fairly quickly,” the elf said, looking down at the mage pensively. “I would not like to repeat the experience.” He looked uncomfortable now. “I know you are fairly experienced, and probably have certain expectations, but I’ll need time to acclimate. I would request that we take things slowly, if that is acceptable.”

“We’ll go at your pace then,” Anders said with a nod. “I can live with that.”

Fenris shifted, looking decidedly even more uncomfortable, ears lowered uncertainly. “I suppose this would be considered courtship then, yes?”

“Depends on who you ask, but if that’s what you want to call it,” Anders replied with a shrug.

Fenris held out a clenched fist, looking down at his feet as he did so. Curious, Anders held out his hand.

A bloodied shark tooth was dropped into the palm of his hand.

“I am told that they are protective good luck charms,” Fenris mumbled, shifting on his feet. “I thought you would appreciate it.”

“Where did you get this?” Anders breathed, looking up at the elf’s arm. “…and how?”

“One of the sailors brought up their net, and it had a shark in it. Sharks are bad omens, so no one wanted to touch it. I threw it back overboard, but not before it gave me a parting gift,” Fenris grinned.

“Come here,” Anders demanded, setting aside the gift and motioning the elf to him. “I just got you mostly patched up and then you go and pull this stunt.”

“It is not bad, my healer,” Fenris said quietly, though he did offer his arm to the mage. 

Wiping away the blood and gunk, Anders saw it was as Fenris said; it just looked bad because of the build-up of blood and sea slime. “Wash it thoroughly,” he said, letting go. “And then come back to me so I can close it up.”

“What, you’re not going to kiss it to make it better?”

Unable to resist the tease, Anders replied “I’m sure I could think of better places to kiss.”

A low rumble came from the elf, Anders recognizing a second later that it was contained laughter. “I’ll hold you to that, Anders,” the warrior smiled. He inclined his head, stepping back and out the door. Zevran popped up a moment later, grinning widely.

“So…what’s this I hear about kissing in better places? May I suggest a few?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Anders was dozing when Fenris came back, entering the room under a cover of darkness. He quietly shooed Wynne out and took her place in the chair by the mage. He was dry, and the only smell on him now was the sea air he had brought into the room with him.

“Well, you certainly smell much better,” Anders said in greeting, eyes fully opening and looking up at the elf. His arm, he noted happily, was cleaned and bandaged. 

“Soap can do amazing things,” Fenris agreed lightly. He fell silent, staring down at Anders, contemplating something.

Anders started to fidget under that gaze; he had seen a similar look before, once. It was after his third escape attempt from the Circle, and he had actually managed to get past the first town, and into a heavily wooded area. He had been milling about, minding his own business, when he had spotted a great furry wolf stalking a small deer. Excited at the prospect of watching a real hunt, Anders had settled in to silently watch. The wolf surely knew he was there, but was focused on the hunt; yellow eyes never wavered from its prey, nearly burning a hole into its target for many long minutes before it struck with speed and ferocity.

Even though he hoped this wouldn’t end in bloodshed like that encounter had, the same intensity Fenris was looking at him with now reminded Anders of the wolf he had seen.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, shifting in bed.

Fenris considered for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I was wondering if you would mind…if you would…”

“Yes?” Anders asked softly.

“Close your eyes and don’t move?”

Anders registered surprise on the elf’s face when he immediately did so, without question, settling back into bed with a huff, and his eyes falling shut as he looked up at the wooden ceiling.

He waited for some time before he felt a faint stirring in the air, alerting him that Fenris was moving at last.

He fought the urge to twitch or jump when the elf tentatively brushed a finger down the side of his face. Fenris repeated the motion again, this time slower and more firmly. Anders relaxed fully under the elf’s touch, a soft sigh escaping him when the finger gently skimmed from his chin to his lips, ever so lightly dancing over them. He blamed reflexes when his tongue automatically darted out, licking at the digit.

He nearly, _nearly,_ opened his eyes when he heard Fenris hiss softly, but remained blind, keeping them closed if only by stubbornness. Fenris had asked him to do this, and Anders would do his best to provide.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just-”

“It is alright,” the warrior interjected quietly. “Just don’t move. I’m going to touch more of you.”

Anders gulped, trying not to think too many naughty thoughts, but it was hard because he was here, alone with Fenris, who had expressed an interest in him, who smelled really good now and Maker it had been a long time-

He heard the shifting of armor, the undoing of a buckle, and the small thump of a weapon being set on the floor. He shivered slightly when his face was cupped by two hands, tilting his head up. He held still, eyes still closed even as all Fenris did was hold his head aloft. It was a gesture of trust for the mage; even with his magic, the elf could easily snap his neck ten times quicker than Anders could get off a spell. 

Yet he knew Fenris would do no such thing. The elf had a sense of honor and Anders got the feeling that it would be against the elf’s self-imposed code of conduct to harm the one who helped heal him.

Probably.

Besides, he thought wryly, Fenris didn’t seem the type to be into necrophilia. 

“I asked that you do not open your eyes or move,” Fenris rumbled, thumbs digging gently into the mage’s cheeks and circling into the skin. “I did not say you were to remain silent.”

“Er...I don’t really have anything to say,” Anders said awkwardly. “Except to please keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Do you really enjoy this?” Fenris asked, curiosity in his voice, thumbs never ceasing their movements. “This simple touching, a mere morsel of the much bigger feast that you are used to?”

“Sometimes it’s the small things that are the most appreciated,” Anders pointed out. “A touch to the face-” he stopped for a moment when Fenris’ fingers returned to his face, brushing gently against him. He cleared his throat and continued. “Or the soft sound of your lover-”

He couldn’t help it, but he shivered in delight as Fenris’ lips brushed against his ear, and the elf chuckled. It wasn’t a carefree sound but a dark, promising one. Like he had plans for Anders.

_Maker, help me._

“-or even an embrace or chaste kiss.”

The elf had pulled back at that, his hands once again tightening around the mage’s face. Anders frowned, but kept his eyes closed. He must have crossed an invisible line somewhere, he thought sadly. Of course, if he didn’t know what the line was, he risked crossing it again in the future and-

His thoughts were interrupted as his head was tilted slightly further up, and cautious lips touched his own.

Fenris was kissing him. 

Fenris. Was. Kissing. Him.

Any logical thought was absent as he forgot himself, arms reaching up and gripping the elf, pulling him down against him as he kissed back. Fenris made a surprised noise, but didn’t pull away or struggle. Instead, he slowly opened his mouth, and Anders swiped his tongue inside, tasting the elf for the first time- sweet, like he had been eating fruit. He was gentle, up until the elf started kissing back.

Anders let out a needy moan, rocking against Fenris as the kiss deepened, unable to resist giving in to the pleasure of another against him, kissing him, and-

_Fuck!_

Fenris had ground his hips back tentatively, the motion unsure. It brought some clarity back – the elf was new to this sort of thing, and had asked to go slow. Grinding into each other like randy teenagers only a day after having that discussion was not slow.

“Fenris,” he gasped, pulling away.

A low rumble of disapproval came from the elf, causing Anders to smile at the darkness. “Fenris,” he said, a little stronger. “That…was good,” he said slowly. “A little too good, if you get my meaning.”

“I…” the elf cleared his throat, and Anders fought back a disappointed whimper as the elf let him go, and he felt the bed shift and the warmth of another’s body leave. “I apologize. You may open your eyes now.”

Anders immediately did as requested, seeing Fenris sitting back in his chair, as if their encounter had never happened.

Well, there was proof in the reddened lips and cheeks of the elf, so Anders was positive it had happened. And he could still taste the sweetness of the elf’s flavor on his tongue, he thought, idly licking his lips.

Fenris is still watching him closely, still intently but…with something different in his gaze now. There was a softening in the corners of his eyes that Anders hadn’t noticed before.

“May I see your arm?” Anders asked, trying to break the silence.

Fenris stiffened a little, and Anders cocked an eyebrow when the elf turned his gaze away, ears lowering. “I…I would like that too much. Especially if you used…magic.”

“That’s right,” Anders muttered, mentally hitting himself upside the head. “I’d forgotten you were sensitive. Well, did you clean it out with soap?”

“Even though it stung like blazes? Yes,” Fenris growled, making Anders smile.

“Good. I’ll fix it later when we’re both…er, a bit better behaved,” he offered.

“That would be acceptable,” the elf said.

They spent the rest of the evening together, quietly discussing their current course and what they thought would happen once they reached Denerim. When Anders drifted off, Fenris was still sitting there, his low voice soothing and gentle as the mage fell asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The last few days of the voyage were, for Anders at least, very insightful, at least in terms of understanding Fenris. The elf would visit during the day, but it was at night that he would break that respectable, friendly distance he kept up during daylight hours. Anders didn’t have a problem with that; indeed, if they truly wanted privacy, Fenris had chosen an excellent time. Most of the crew would be in bed, and Zevran and Wynne had usually retired to their own beds by the time his scarred warrior crept in to see him.

It was nice to see that despite prior experiences, Fenris could be sneaky and sly when he wanted to be.

Physically, they had not ventured beyond kissing and the occasional embrace after that first night, and Anders wryly thought that it was probably for the best. Fenris always requested that the mage close his eyes and hold still, and he always initiated the encounters. He also never allowed Anders up from the bed, which both touched and annoyed the healer. He was nearly well enough to leave the bed permanently, but he was touched because Fenris was trying to be considerate of his injuries. Even when he touched him on his face or throat, the elf would touch Anders very gently. Anders firmly controlled himself in their encounters, keeping his hips still and his arms down on the bed. Fenris also held back, though he had noted Anders’ enthusiastic verbal responses to his gentle attentions.

“So passionate,” the elf murmured one evening, trailing a finger down the side of the mage’s face. “So desperate.”

“You try being celibate for nearly a decade and see if you’re not a little eager yourself,” Anders shot back, leaning into the touch, eyes closed as always.

“It’s more than that,” Fenris said thoughtfully.

Anders winced a little. “Yes…yes it is. I never thought that we’d…that we’d end up together. Most of my dreams of you ended with you ripping my heart out and stomping on it.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“Both.”

Fenris pulled back, leaving Anders to only guess how the elf was looking at him now. “Is that how you truly saw me?”

Anders fidgeted nervously, biting at his lip. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, to make sure they didn’t open. “Well…at the time? Yes. I wasn’t joking when I called you nothing more than a wild dog. All I had ever seen of you was violence. And when any magisters or mages came into play, it just seemed to make you even more vicious.”

“And yet you still desired me?”

Anders laughed softly. “Yes. Even with Justice in my head, I could still think of a few ways your phasing abilities could come in handy.”

“Oh?” Fenris asked, his voice warming. He settled back down on the mage, chin resting gingerly on the mage’s still healing chest, his fingers going to play with the shark tooth that Anders had managed to make into a protective pendant. Anders wiggled slightly before stilling, enjoying the simple contact. “And what did you come up with?”

“I’m sure you could imagine,” Anders hedged.

“Indulge me,” Fenris commanded. “I would hear what wicked things you thought up, healer. Show me how devious you were, even back when you hated me.”

“Well,” Anders drawled. “I’d imagine that you could scratch someone who has an itch under their armor. That way they wouldn’t have to take it off.”

“You jest.”

“A little,” the mage smirked. “And I bet if you weren’t so stunning you’d make a wonderful pickpocket.”

He mentally patted himself on the back when the elf stammered slightly at the compliment. “I-I…stunning?”

“Yep,” Anders nodded. “I’ve never been with an ugly person before, so obviously you are stunning.”

Fenris didn’t reply to that, and Anders hadn’t expected him to. The elf had to have been one few people Anders had ever met that truly did not know how desirable they were. Fenris did not feign ignorance to garner more compliments, to bathe in that loving glow – he truly did not know.

So Anders had made it a personal mission to enlighten the elf.

“You truly mean that, don’t you?”

The question is soft, searching. Anders, still blind, can only smile helplessly.

“I wish I had known this when I was younger,” he said lightly. “But sometimes it’s not just a person’s looks that makes them beautiful.”

Fenris sat up at that, fingers drifting over the mage’s face once more. “I should go,” he said softly. “Perhaps next time I will be ready with my own flattery.”

“You’re all too welcome to try,” Anders smirked. He turned into the palm that lingered on his cheek, kissing it before it drew away. When he opened his eyes once more, Fenris was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

The second the cry of ‘land ho!’ reached the lower deck, his healer was on the move.

“Damn it Fenris, I’ve been in bed the whole voyage,” the man snapped when the elf tried to herd him back into the safety and comfort of the sheets. “I’m fine, I’ve been cooped up this whole trip, and I’m in need of fresh air. I’m going above deck, with or without you at my side!”

Anders got his way, and it wasn’t very long before he and the mage were topside, both leaning over the railing to get a better look at the first sight of land.

Fenris stared. He’d never been further south than the Wounded Coast outside of Kirkwall. For his first southern city, it was…

“Ah, Denerim,” Anders sighed. “The smelly city of mud, dogs, mud, and templars. I’ll feel right at home!”

“You sound positively thrilled,” Fenris said dryly. The mage had not been joking about the smell; they hadn’t even reached port yet and the elf caught a whiff of what he recognized as a mixture of human waste and mud.

“I may be an Anders,” the mage grinned. “But Fereldan really is home for me. Even if it means confronting the Commander. Again,” he added with a shudder.

“Oh, don’t worry my friend,” Zevran chuckled from behind the pair, coming up between them and taking a gander himself. Fenris stiffened at the nearness of the assassin, but the blonde elf continued, oblivious to Fenris’ discomfort.

“I shall endeavor to make sure my Warden fully understands the circumstances of you deserting your post. I will make sure to…how do you say it? Take the edge off of her before you see her.”

Fenris fought the urge to gag over the banister.

“I’d appreciate any help I can get,” Anders said. “I grew up with her in the Circle, and I still remember her temper. And I thought red-heads were temperamental…”

“Any embarrassing stories of the great Hero?” Zevran asked excitedly. “She hardly ever speaks of her past, perhaps you could provide more insight?”

“Beyond having a few general classes and fooling around together a handful of times? No, not really.”

Anders and Zevran continued chattering in the background as the ship docked, but Fenris was unable to focus on the conversation, instead frowning moodily down into the water.

He had known that the mage had had previous experiences, but hearing that he had ‘fooled around’ with his commander, before she was the Hero? Somehow, that bothered him. Especially when Zevran, the Hero’s own lover, seemed very cavalier about it, and Anders didn’t have a problem admitting it. It was all…strange to him. The whole situation, and the odd feelings cropping up at inappropriate times.

He pushed it aside, opting to focus on watching the docks as they landed. 

It took them several minutes to disembark, but they were soon on their way. Wynne quickly left them, stating she had errands to do before heading to meet a friend of hers in Cumberland.

“Take care of Anders,” she told Fenris sternly. “If I hear you let him get into trouble, you’ll get a thorough finger wagging!”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, though he tempered his sharp response with a cheeky grin. “I’ll take good care of him.”

Denerim was not entirely what Fenris expected it to be – all he really had to go on was a few vague comments from Anders, more unclear comments from Ferelden refugees in Kirkwall, and what propaganda of the barbarian capital city had reached his ears while he was still a slave in Teventer. The crowds of people were expected, he was able to mentally prepare himself for the jostling and pressing movements as strangers moved around them or with them as they made their way through the streets. The smell wasn’t as strong once you got past the docks, and he silently thanked their fortune that they seemed to not attract any cutpurses or muggers.

However, with Zevran as their guide, he couldn’t fully relax. Especially when the assassin led them right into a whore house.

“Why are we here?” Fenris asked, trying his hardest not to sneer at the few workers milling about with wan and uninterested smiles. A red-headed male elf passed by, offering him a wink and a salacious smile that made Fenris’ hackles rise. The elf quickly scurried away at the look on the warrior’s face.

“Apologies, my friend,” Zevran said, not sounding sorry at all. “This is where we’re supposed to meet up with the Commander. I’ll go see if she’s here, or if she left a message.”

Fenris waited with Anders at a table to the side of the entrance; they could watch who came in, would have the element of surprise if anyone unsavory came in and still had their backs to the wall.

“Wise choice,” he said to the mage.

“Old habits,” Anders replied drily. 

Fenris nearly jumped out of his seat when he felt something brush his knee, but relaxed when Anders muttered a soft apology, and his hand found the elf’s under the table, gently massaging Fenris’ palm. Fenris glanced around the empty room warily; the whores had gotten wise and were now ignoring them, and Zevran was still talking to the Madame about the whereabouts of his Warden. Deciding to indulge a little, he allowed the contact, squeezing gently in return.

“You might laugh at this, but I think you’re bringing out my non-existent romantic side,” Anders said quietly, amusement dancing in his eyes when the elf turned to look at him.

“I’m not some woman for you to coddle,” Fenris huffed. “I don’t need romance. Just some time to…get used to this,” he accented his statement with a stronger squeeze.

“I know, without any trace of a doubt, that you are a man,” Anders said. “After all, I’ve seen you naked more times than you probably would care to know.”

“And does that please you? To have seen me at my most vulnerable?”

Anders tilted his head at him, looking thoughtful, then amused. “Not really. Don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly, probably seeing the disappointment on the elf’s face. “You’re gorgeous. It’s just…I saw most of you when you were…unhealthy. I’d rather see you covered, healthy and happy instead of naked and miserable.”

“I…thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Anders said brightly.

They stayed like that until Zevran came stalking back over. When he got close, Anders squeezed Fenris’ hand once, and then let go as the assassin proceeded to fill them in.

“Well, I have bad news and good news. Children, which would you like to hear first?”

Fenris glanced at Anders, then at the other elf. “Bad news,” he and his healer both intoned.

“Bad news is…mi amora has been delayed,” Zevran frowned, weight shifting from one foot to the other. “She sent a letter letting me know that she ran into some political problems back at the Keep, and should be here in another week or so.”

“A week?” Anders asked, sounding unsure. Fenris supposed he just wanted to get his meeting with his Commander over with; now he had more time to stew and worry.

“Afraid so, at the very least,” Zevran said. “But, the good news is that she has paid for our room, and the Madame assured me that there are jobs and errands about to be had so we can make some coin ourselves.”

“Coin?” Fenris asked.

“Room?” Anders echoed in the same tone.

“Si and si,” Zevran beamed, sunny disposition back once again. “We have a whole room complete with a private wash room at our disposal, and there is opportunity to fill our coin purses. A lucky break for us, don’t you agree gentlemen?”

“Why do we have only one room?” Anders asked, eyes narrowing at the assassin. “You think I’m going to run off again, don’t you?”

“To be fair, you are not exactly a shining example of steadfastness when it comes to Warden business,” Zevran shrugged. “And it’s cheaper. The Warden only sent enough for one room and a few meals. She knows we will come up with the rest on our own.”

As they trumped upstairs to their room, Fenris wondered idly if Anders was upset at the lack of trust, or with the fact that they would all have to share one bed.

Perhaps both, he mused silently.

“Just a moment, I must have a word with our brooding friend here,” Zevran chuckled as they came to their door. “Pardon us.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Zevran promptly grabbed Fenris by the shoulder, steering him down the hallway away from his healer. Fenris snarled in Tevene at the assassin, but the blonde elf ignored him.

“My friend, I would ask a favor of you,” he said instead. “No, forget it, I am now calling up the favor you owe me.”

Fenris stiffened, still in the assassin’s grasp. “If what you want is anything of an intimate nature-”

“Tempting, but I take my job a bit more seriously than that,” Zevran barked. “I want you to promise me that you will watch our mage and make sure he doesn’t escape during our stay here. If you do that, I will consider us even.”

“How do you know I won’t agree and then go back on my word?” Fenris asked, jerking out and away from the other elf’s touch.

“Because you are an honorable man, I feel, and you don’t like having debts over your head,” Zevran shrugged. “Also, if you help him escape…well, I would be under a great deal of stress, you see,” he chuckled. “I’m no longer a true contracted Crow, but I do owe my life and my allegiance to my Warden. And she wants your Anders. That’s a lot of stress for me, because if I fail her, it would disappoint her. And if I disappoint her, it wounds me. And if it wounds me, then there is a great chance that I won’t have sex that night. And a lack of sex, or the threat of it, makes me very, very shaky. So much so, that if I were to chase him down and corner him, I might just…slip…”

“You would kill a man you took great pains to save from torture and Tranquility?” Fenris said, eyes glaring down at the smaller elf.

Zevran shrugged. “I was hoping we could avoid that. I’m just asking you, his concerned lover-”

“We’re not lovers,” Fenris snapped.

“-to watch out for him,” Zevran finished. “Can you do that? If not for our debt, then perhaps for his life?”

Fenris toyed with the idea, for a moment, of denying the assassin’s request. In the end, caution won out. “Very well,” he responded. “I will make sure he does not escape. Should I tie him to the bed as well?”

“Only if that’s what you two want to do in private when I’m not there,” Zevran winked. “Unless you want me to watch? I like watching. But no, seriously,” he added. “I don’t mind if you take him with you when you go on a job or something. Just make sure not to lose him.”

Fenris wearily made his way back to their room, taking a moment to look over the arrangement. 

Well, the bed was certainly large enough for three men, he noted. It was spacious and clean, so he supposed he should be thankful for that much.

Anders was already opening the windows in the room. “A little fresh air in here wouldn’t hurt,” he told Fenris. “I’m taking a bath though. Unless you want to go first?”

Fenris shook his head. “That’s alright. You can have the honors.”

“Good,” Anders sighed, making a beeline for the bathroom. “And, oh, happy days, it has actual Maker blessed plumbing!”

Chuckling, Fenris set his things on the floor, listening as the mage set about getting his bath water.

As he looked out one of the windows onto the small street below, his mind wandered. He wondered where Isabela was, and if she was enjoying herself. He wondered if Danarius’ new pet was acting the way it was supposed to. He wondered how Anders looked with wet hair, water slinking down his fair skin in rivulets, creeping down and over the planes of his chest-

He shook his head, trying to dislodge such thoughts.

“Fenris?”

The elf stilled, turning to look back at the healer, who was peaking at him from behind the bathroom door.

“Would you spot me? I probably shouldn’t be alone doing this and I need help washing my back.”

Swallowing, Fenris gave a nod and followed Anders into the room. When the mage started pulling his clothing off, the elf coughed, and politely turned his back. The mage stilled, then spoke, sounding amused.

“I don’t mind if you look, Fenris. Don’t you want to even the score a little?” he teased. 

Fenris had to admit the mage was right on several points. He did want to see the healer without clothing, though it wasn’t for evening the score between them. He was startled to realize that, for all the times Anders had seen him nude, or close to, Fenris had yet to see the mage’s back, or wearing anything less than long trousers.

“Fenris?”

Fenris cleared his throat, slowly turning back to look at his healer, eyes raking in his form.

He wasn’t skinny, but the mage still bore the marks of his recent captivity, in both his wounds and in his pinched-looking frame. Other than that…  
Fenris’ eyes caught the color of light hair on Anders’ chest, following it down slowly to his navel. Unconsciously, he licked his lips, wondering what it would feel like to run his fingers in the hair there, and even lower-

Anders chuckled, and began to shuck his trousers off. Fenris couldn’t help but stare. Anders was tall, and he had the long legs for the height afforded to him. The swell of his rear was enticing, and his cock-

Well now, he mused, looking at the organ in question. Someone was certainly happy.

“Sorry,” Anders said lightly, dropping his clothes and carefully climbing into the tub. “Whenever you look at me like that, it…excites me.”

“I have no problems with that,” Fenris said, clearing his throat as he walked over, still enjoying the sight of the mage, now wet, sitting before him, so open and trusting. He knelt beside the tub, reaching for a cloth to help his healer with his back.

Now that he was closer, he could see that Anders was not without his own markings – slightly off skin coloring, pale jagged edges of scars, and duller patches of skin adorned the mage almost as much as Fenris’ markings covered the elf. Sensing his unvoiced questions, the mage spoke.

“Most of those are from my Warden days,” he said quietly.

Fenris paused, then after wetting the cloth, gently touched a thumb sized blotch on the mage’s right bicep.

“Bolt from a Darkspawn crossbow,” Anders said. “I was lucky it just went into my arm and not my side.”

The cloth drifted down to his ribs, where a thin scar cut across the rib cage. “I just barely missed getting impaled by a spear.”

Fenris considered the wound, frowning. “Anders, you have healed worse than this and have not left scars. Why weren’t these…?”

“Darkspawn wounds, for whatever reason, don’t heal as well, no matter how much healing you pour into them,” the mage said, reaching for the bar of soap and starting to lather up his hands. “Trust me, most of them are not as bad as they look. They just didn’t heal properly.”

Fenris nodded, taking the soap and lathering the cloth. He spent the next few moments silently tending to the mage’s back while Anders took care of his front. After rinsing the soap from Anders’ back, Fenris started to gingerly wash the back of the mage’s neck. A happy hum gave him the courage to continue, soaping the other man’s neck, throat, his shoulders-

He halted, staring at the wound before him, staring up at him blatantly from the sensitive area between Anders’ neck and shoulder. He touched it carefully, fingers feeling the smooth edges. Anders stilled.

“That…was from a Templar. When I joined with Justice.”

“This should have killed you,” Fenris replied quietly. “Or, at the very least, incapacitated you.”

“They were no match for Justice, especially when he was afraid for me.”

“A demon saving the life of a mage,” Fenris snorted. “You don’t hear that every day, do you?”

“He was no demon,” Anders retorted, though without heat. “Can we not do this? I don’t…I don’t want to argue. Not now, anyway.”

“I apologize,” the elf offered, lightly brushing his fingers over Anders’ nape. “Let’s finish cleaning you up.”

After Anders was dressed once more, he urged Fenris to take his turn. 

“It’s just the thing, after a long voyage cooped up on a ship,” he said, offering the elf a playful grin. “I’ll spot you and wash your back too, if you want.”

Fenris hesitated, mulling it over in his mind. “Do as you wish,” he finally said. With a shrug, he led the way back into the bathroom, Anders hot on his heels.  
The elf didn’t waste time stripping down once the bath was drawn, climbing into the hot water with a hiss, then a sigh as he sank, blissfully happy now, into the water. Anders appeared overhead, looking amused.

“Told you so,” he smiled.

Fenris rolled his eyes, his ‘hurrumph’ turning into a happy sigh as Anders started scrubbing his back. The elf leaned forward a little, granting the mage more access, and the healer took advantage. Fenris bit his lip as the cleaning took on a more intimate air as the mage started pressing harder against him, relaxing tense muscles and spreading a little pleasure over Fenris’ frame. His cock started to respond, swelling slowly under the mage’s attentions to the rest of his body.

“Is this alright?” Anders asked gently, his hands rubbing Fenris’ neck.

The elf groaned, but nodded. He heard the mage chuckle.

“Are you enjoying my attention, serrah?”

Fenris’ lips quirked up in a small smile. “You could say that.”

“Oh, I’d definitely say that,” the mage’s voice said, sounding devilish right next to his ear. “I’m not the only one who gets a little excited now and then, am I?”

“I never denied it,” Fenris huffed.

“Fenris.”

The elf in question opened his eyes, looking up at his friend. The mage was looking at him, eyes warm and considering. Slowly, very slowly, he leaned down, pressing his lips to Fenris’.

The elf opened his mouth, welcoming the mage and enthusiastically returning the kiss. Anders made a pleased sound, his hands leaving the elf’s body and moving to cradle his face tenderly, his own experienced tongue urging the elf to a slower speed. They continued like this for some time, languidly dueling back and forth until Fenris reluctantly pulled back, enjoying the caress of the other man’s fingers on his face as he pulled away.

“May I touch you?”

Fenris stared at the mage, taking in the other man’s passionate look, his concern, and what looked like utter need in his eyes. His body was yelling at him to accept, to yield and enjoy what this man, this mage, was offering him.

Instead, he pulled further away, grabbing a towel and climbing out. 

“Fenris? What’s wrong? What did I do wrong?”

The elf winced at the panicked tone in his healer’s voice. “Nothing, Anders,” he said as he toweled off. “I just…I don’t…I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.”

“Oh,” the mage said, looking more concerned now. “I’m not pushing you too hard, am I? I don’t want to make you afraid or uncomfortable-”

“Peace, healer,” Fenris cut in, wrapping the towel around himself and heading back into the main room. “It’s just my nature. I danced around Hawke for almost four years before everything…happened. In some ways, this…thing of ours is progressing faster than I had anticipated.”

“Would you like me to back off?” the mage offered. “If this is too fast…”

Fenris considered for a moment as he dropped the towel, pulling his clothing on quickly, aware that he was giving the mage a show, a tease of what the other man couldn’t have - yet.

“No. I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying this. I like that we’re doing this slowly. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing, and we will be fine.”

Anders stared at him. “You want me to keep perving over you?”

The elf laughed. “I suppose I can allow that. I meant with the asking before you did anything serious, but yes, you may continue to fantasize if you like.”

“Oh,” the mage brightened at once. There was a spark in his eyes that sent a thrill through Fenris- a look that promised trouble. _“Good.”_


	15. Chapter 15

Despite having a good day, that night had brought its’ own problems. That is, Fenris had problems - specifically having Zevran sharing the same bed as him and Anders.

“If you so much as breathe on him wrong, I will gut you, promise or no.” the warrior snarled as they discarded their clothing for the eve, him and Zevran’s being carefully folded and sat down- Anders, being himself, naturally let everything fly and drop where they would.

Zevran, being a smart man, smelled the danger, and merely offered the other elf an all-too innocent smile. “Who?” he asked, pointing at himself. “Me? My friend, I will be the perfect example of platonic chastity! Unless you change your mind, in which case, I’ll go fetch some rope.”

It was a good thing Fenris was no mage, else the assassin’s pretty golden head would be on fire now, Anders thought idly as the warrior snarled at Zevran in Tevene something nasty before throwing a pillow at the rouge, who promptly ducked it with a laugh.

Their bed, while certainly large enough to fit them, didn’t fit them to where they could have a comfortable distance between each other. And then there was the matter of placement. Fenris at first insisted on being in-between Anders and the assassin, but it was noticed immediately by all parties that Fenris was Not Comfortable being in the middle of everything. However, being the utterly stubborn git he was, he refused to switch places with anyone. After an hour or more of kicking, snarling, and in one instance, biting, Anders settled the match once and for all, namely by kicking Zevran into one corner and rolling over Fenris and nudging him to the other. Fenris was on the outside closest to the window, with Anders snuggled up against him, and Zevran on the other side of the mage, closest to the door. Even then, there was the fact that every few minutes, Fenris’ white head would pop up to peak over Anders to look at the assassin, probably making sure he was keeping his hands to himself.

“Stop it,” Anders finally muttered. “He’s taken and he knows better than to try anything.”

“He’s an opportunist and I won’t have him encroaching on what I consider to be mine,” Fenris hissed.

Anders pondered that statement for a moment. “I’m yours, am I?”

Even in the dark, he could see the tell-tale darkening of the elf’s skin. “I…I don’t mean-”

“I’m…a person of interest for you,” Anders teased. 

Fenris huffed, but there was a small smile on his face now. “Indeed. I find very few people…interesting.”

“Not even me?” Zevran’s voice cackled from behind Anders. “I feel slighted! All my pretty looks and smoldering gazes – wasted!”

“I’ll waste _you_ if you don’t shut up,” Fenris snarled.

“All right children,” Anders said loudly. “Let’s settle down and get some sleep. Mummy made you both lunches for your first day of classes tomorrow so you’ll do well in your lessons. Who wants pie?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Fenris muttered, though the venom was decidedly lacking since he snuggled closer, resting his face into the crook of the mage’s neck and quickly falling asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~

The next morning found Zevran bidding them a cheerful goodbye and leaving them to themselves. After a quick breakfast of fruit, Anders led the way to the Chanter’s Board, Fenris close by.

“Well, nothing,” Anders said after a moment of looking. “Save for a notice about an auction- oh! Perfect, it’s a work auction! This might actually be better than a normal job.”

“A what?” Fenris asked as he quickly followed after the mage, who was now darting in and out among the crowds of people, intent on his destination.

“Work auction,” Anders said as they came into a packed square with a raised platform. “People come up, tell the auctioneer what their skill-sets are, and then they’re auctioned off-”

“Slavery,” Fenris interrupted, hand already reaching for his sword. “We should-”

“No no,” Anders cut in, offering the elf a stern but knowing look. “These are perfectly legal. And the person who buys your service only has you for the day. And it’s just that- a service, not slavery or selling your flesh. You get work and some pay, and the auctioneer gets a cut of the profits, usually for a charity or the Chantry. All in all, not a bad thing. Except for the Chantry bit,” he added, almost as an after-thought. “Oh well. They can consider this my tithe for the next ten years or something.”

“I will not indenture myself,” Fenris growled, though his hand left the hilt of his weapon. 

“Then you can follow me, as I’m sure that’s what Zevran wants you to do,” Anders said swiftly. “Come come, I need to get signed up.”

As it was, Anders ended up being under the service of an old Chantry mother with Fenris tagging along as his ‘bodyguard’. 

“A bodyguard?” the mother (Mother Helena, Anders reminded himself sternly) asked, voice perpetually quivering with age. “My boy, what sort of trouble did you get yourself into to warrant a bodyguard?”

“I lost a lot of card games and a lot of money, Mother,” Anders said. This, technically, was very true- he still owed the Coterie quite a bit of gold. So much so, that last he heard, the next time they saw him, they promised to cut off his ears in payment. He hoped he didn’t run into them- he was rather fond of his ears and rather attached to them, thank you very much.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Mother Helena sighed, shuffling along the street. “I will pray for you. At least you can do some good work though. Maker bless the Hero for requesting your kind to be allowed a longer leash.”

“Pardon?” Fenris asked, sounding surprised. “Your mages here are free?”

“Young man,” the Mother said severely. “You have been living under a rock! When the Hero saved us from the Blight, she requested one thing from our new king- that the Mages not be confined in their Tower. And it was granted, for the best, I feel.”

“But how are they kept in check?” Fenris asked, sounding more and more agitated by the minute, to Anders’ annoyance. “How do you keep them from taking over? How do you-”

“I said they were given a longer leash, child,” the Mother replied. “And I meant it. They are freer than they were; but, we still have our Templars, and we still Harrow. It was decided that mages are to be kept in the Tower until they are Harrowed, and then they are sent where their talents are needed…with a Templar escort until they are proven reliable, and can prove that they can handle themselves outside the Circle. Even then, they must document where they go and what they do.”

“A longer leash,” Fenris mused. “There is change, but nothing is changing too drastically.”

“Indeed,” Mother Helena smiled. “Both our king and our Hero agreed mutually on this.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Hours later, as Anders finished up healing the last patient (a young man who had broken his leg thanks to his over-enthusiastic Mabari hound), Fenris couldn’t help but comment.

“You left all of this for Kirkwall?”

“Yes.”

An eyebrow cocked. “Why?”

“Because…because it wasn’t enough,” Anders sighed, getting up and washing his hands in a basin. “We do have more freedoms here, in Ferelden. But how long will they last, if at all? Children are still ripped from their mother’s skirts against their will, still feared and reviled in some households. All it would take would be one major mishap with a mage here, and they would lose their newfound freedom…if you can call it that,” he added with a disgusted snort. “And there are still other Circles out there who need help, who need to have freedom in their hands as well.”

“And so you went to Justice.”

“And so I went to Justice,” Anders said bitterly. “Oh, what a mess that was. Still cleaning up after that, mind you. But…this, all of this,” he waved a hand vaguely around him. “It’s a start, at least.”

“Despite the distinct lack of explosions?”

Anders winced. “That…I’m not exactly sure how I convinced myself that needed to be done. I looked over my notes from that year…and…I just…” he trailed off, falling still as he thought about what he had done, what he had learned.

“You were not yourself,” Fenris offered quietly.

“No,” Anders agreed. “I wasn’t. I’m still not. I look back now on what I wrote before then…Fenris, it’s the most unrealistic tripe I’ve ever read. Justice…I was more Justice then, than I was Anders. Anders knew mercy. Anders knew that some battles were better left not fought. Anders knew that ultimatums never really solved anything. Justice did not. Justice is hard, unyielding- a force neither good nor bad. Justice is that blade that hangs over everyone’s proverbial neck, waiting to slice down should they step outside the boundaries of what is right. For nearly ten years, I was that blade. It’s…dehumanizing, being a living weapon.”

“Yes,” Fenris said, his voice chilly. “Yes, it is.”

~ ~ ~ ~

They left the hospice around mid-day, heading back to their room, both quiet save for the occasional question from Fenris about the city.

When they closed the door to their room, Anders noticed that Fenris seemed to be breathing easier. For whatever reason, it irritated him- how dare Fenris act afraid in this miserable city? He wasn’t a mage, he didn’t have to worry about the Chantry being alerted that there was an unescorted mage running around.

“What’s the matter?” he asked archly. “Afraid that the big bad mages are going to jump you?”

The look Fenris gave him was priceless- a mixture between surprise and barely suppressed anger. “You know my history with unknown mages, and you _mock_ me for it when we’re in a country where they are nearly as free as in the Imperium?”

For whatever reason, the earlier talk of Justice and freedom had riled Anders up to the point where he wanted to argue, to _fight_ , even if it meant angering the man before him.

“This isn’t the Imperium, Fenris!”

“No, it’s not. But it could be. All it takes is one mage who is cunning and bloodthirsty enough, and then it’s all downhill from there,” Fenris barked back. “All it takes is one man, or woman, or child, to throw everything out of balance, and when they have magic at their fingertips, it makes that upswing all the more unsettling. I stand by my belief that if you give them the chance, almost any mage will become a Magister.”

“Not all mages are Magisters, Fenris,” he replied, arms crossing over his chest. “Most just want a simple life with simple freedoms.”

“I’d be blind not to see that,” Fenris said, nodding at the mage. “But this is a country with newly freed ones. Do not try to assure me that there weren’t, that there are not any problems. You would be lying, and I won’t abide by it.”

“Fenris, there’s problems _everywhere_ ,” Anders pointed out. 

“But it would seem problems with mages involved become exponentially more complicated.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t be so complicated if people would just treat mages like normal people.”

“That is impossible,” Fenris snarled. 

“Why?” Anders asked, no, demanded. “Why is that impossible Fenris?”

“Because mages are not normal!”

Anders took a step back, not quite sure if what he heard was actually what the elf had said. “Wh-what?”

“Mages,” Fenris repeated through gritted teeth. “Are not normal. You know this, I know this. It is a statement of fact, like the sky is blue and Mabari are smart.”

Anger blazed to life in Anders’ gullet, and he just couldn’t contain himself- after everything he had done for the elf, after what they had been through together, he still felt this way?

“So I’m nothing but an abomination of nature to you? A freak? A side-show in a traveling act? Is that why you’re being so cautious and slow with…with us? Because you’re afraid of unleashing something nasty in me?”

“No,” Fenris started, but Anders was beyond listening. With a grunt, he shoved past Fenris and out the door, ignoring the elf when he scrambled after him.

“Anders, I desire you but-”

“Sorry, Anders isn’t here at the moment,” the mage snapped as he stomped down the stairs and headed towards the bar. “He’s too busy being a _mage_ to understand you. If you leave your name and request with the scribe, he’ll get back to you as soon as he stops being all magey and disgusting.”

“You’re not-”

“Barkeep,” Anders called out as he sat down. Ignoring the elf beside him, Anders indulged himself for the first time in years. Whenever Fenris would try to speak with him, Anders would either hum very loudly or tip back his drink. Eventually, the elf got the hint.

“Fine,” he sighed. “If you are certain you wish to take this course, I will leave you alone for a few hours. I need to go procure some new armor anyway. If my healer thinks I’m ready, that is.”

Despite the fact he was still miffed, Anders couldn’t resist a serious medical question. It was what he was, petty differences or no. “No heavy plate. Bronze is as high as you’re allowed to go right now.”

“I’m also considering a broadsword.”

“Broadsword will be fine,” Anders sighed, rubbing his temples as a new glass of alcohol appeared before him. “You’ll be sore for a bit though.”

“I’ll live.”

And with that, the elf left Anders alone at the bar. 

He glanced up at the barkeep, offering a smirk. “So…how about those mages, eh?”

~~~~

He wasn’t sure how long he was at the bar- it could have been days for all he noticed. But eventually when the room started to tilt a little, Anders decided he had had enough, and slowly made his way back up to the room.

He met Zevran on the way up. He didn’t care much for the grin the assassin gave him. “I’ll be at the bar,” the elf said, offering him a wink before trotting downstairs.

Grumbling about silly elves, Anders entered their room, slammed the door, and promptly threw himself onto the bed, groaning into the pillows.

 _Why_ did he pick a fight with Fenris? They had had a truce, up until this point. Hell, the elf had been doing rather well, what with actually enjoying Anders’ touch to the point that his arousal over-rode his inbred fear of magic. Fenris, laying pliant beneath him, trusting him…oh, what a wonderful image, Anders thought. He certainly didn’t mind Fenris’ new…compliance towards him. And now, despite the fact he was trying to, well, woo the elf, he had gone and picked probably the prickliest subject available, and now Fenris was gone. 

This was perhaps one of the few times he should have actually listened to his dick- his dick wouldn’t have allowed him to argue with Fenris- why argue when you could be seducing? Or licking? Or sucking? Or-

His pleasant thoughts were interrupted when the elf he was thinking of opened and walked through the door, silent save for the slight sound of his new heavy leather armor shifting against him.

He stilled, his green eyes catching Anders’ brown ones, an uncertain look in them. 

“Welcome back,” Anders offered.

Fenris seemed to relax at the welcome, offering the mage a small smile as he gently set down his broadsword and began to undress for the night. As he was watching the elf go about his business, Anders mulled over their current situation. He had agreed to go at Fenris’ pace- however, nothing had been mentioned about, oh, _tempting_ the other party.

Mind made up, he started to pull his clothing off, kicking off his boots with a thud that brought Fenris’ attention back to him, the elf stopping his own undressing.

“Anders…?”

The mage paused, noting the tone- the elf was unsure, probably about many things. What he was doing, if Fenris should leave.

“Stay,” Anders called to him quietly. “If it doesn’t bother you, stay.”

“I…this is private,” Fenris muttered, though he did not look away from the mage. Anders offered him a small smile.

“It is private,” he agreed. “And I want to share it with you. If you’re alright with this, that is.”

“Despite the fact that I seemed to have upset you earlier?”

Anders smirked, voice lowering an octave. “What better way to work through it than…releasing a little _tension_?”

“What-” Fenris paused, frowning as Anders tossed his clothing off the bed, leaving him in only his smalls. The elf’s eyes seemed to grow wider, taking in every detail of Anders that he could. “Rules,” the elf rasped. “What are the rules?”

Ah, Anders thought. Up until this point, there had been rules in their interaction- Fenris usually initiated it, Fenris was the one who saw, who touched, who set the rules. He wanted rules and boundaries; he wanted to know what to expect, so he wouldn’t be surprised.

Anders could work with that.

“Just…enjoy the show,” Anders smiled, lifting his hips up and grasping the hem of his smalls. “Watch, don’t touch.” And with that, he tugged the smalls off, tossing them aside and turning his gaze back to the elf.

 _Gotcha,_ he thought smugly as Fenris’ nostrils flared. The warrior’s hands were twitching, closing in around themselves as if he was imagining touching the skin that was now being bared to him. Keeping eye contact with the elf, Anders reached down, grasped his already swelling cock, and started to slowly stroke it.

The low growl from Fenris was unexpected, but certainly appreciated, Anders thought happily as the sound sent a zing down his spine. As he stroked, he let his eyes drift from Fenris’ face and over the elf’s frozen form- the leather was similar to the armor Anders was used to seeing him in, right down to the cut and the tight fit.

“Do you see what you do to me, Fenris?” Anders sighed. “You’ve always done this to me. Even after our most vicious fights- you always left me aching for you.”

“I-I did?” Fenris stuttered, pupils blown wide. He seemed to stagger slightly when Anders’ fingers reached for his testicles on the downward stroke, lightly caressing them.

“You did,” Anders agreed, speeding up a little. He hadn’t done this in a while, too long in his mind, and with Fenris watching…

“You did,” he repeated, now going at a set pace. “Even when you snarled about mage rights, even when you described what you wanted done to me…I envisioned you beneath me, above me, _riding_ me. I dreamed of fucking your mouth, shoving myself in as far as I could until I was close. You would beg me to continue, and if you begged enough, I would. I dreamed of you fucking my mouth, those nasty gauntlets of yours digging into my scalp as you held me in place. I wasn’t joking when I told you all those things I would to you, when you rescued me.”

“No, you weren’t,” Fenris breathed, eyes entirely focused on the mage spread out on the bed. He looked hungry, Anders thought giddily. His body looked taunt, ready to pounce. He wondered what it would take to make Fenris snap, to make the other man completely unhinge. 

“I would do all those things for you, Fenris,” Anders purred. “And anything else you wanted. If you wanted a toy inside of you all day, I would take you to Antiva myself to help get you fitted. If you wanted to fuck me in the middle of the Gallows, I’d call for an audience with the Knight Commander. If you wanted to drag Zev into this for a little fun-”

“Leave that damned assassin out of this,” Fenris growled, though the usual sharpness is dulled by his distracted state. “Tell me more of…what you would have us do together.”

“What wouldn’t we do?” Anders chuckled, light and breathy as he stroked himself closer and closer- 

“Fenris,” he gasped. Closer-

There was a shift in the air, and that familiar rumble was right by his ear.

“Anders,” Fenris whispered. “Let me _see_.”

And Maker damn him, Anders came with a loud gasp, spilling into his hand.

His senses returned to him fully after a few moments, eyes opening to look up at the elf standing above him. The warrior’s hands would tentatively reach out, twitch and then move back to his side only to repeat the process over again.

“You can touch now,” Anders grinned.

Fenris pounced, hands grasping the mage’s face and kissing him desperately, pulling what little breath Anders had left in him. Eager to return the affection, the mage reached out to touch the elf, hands gently resting on Fenris’ waist. The warrior made an approving noise, ending the kiss only to gently plant a few more on Anders’ face before pulling completely away.

“Enjoy the show?” Anders asked, curiously watching the elf gingerly make his way to the wash room.

“…yes.”

“Not going to show off your own stuff?”

Fenris paused at the doorway, glancing back uncertainly. “Not at this time, no.” He shifted awkwardly. “It’s not that I didn’t…that I didn’t appreciate-”

“It’s alright,” Anders said quietly. “I didn’t expect you to jump right in anyway. I just wanted to work out some tension...and to give you a taste.”

The elf snorted, heading into the wash room and closing the door behind him. Anders heard him mutter, “Consider my appetite whetted then, healer.”


	16. Chapter 16

The mage was an infuriating, alluring bundle of trouble.

The blonde was infuriating because of his stance, his belief that mages should be free and unchained from their responsibilities and rightful place under the caring watch of others. He argued that mages were people too, and deserved to live as others do. Even now, after years of knowing Fenris and parts of Fenris’ story, he still did not see that mages were _not_ normal, and as such could not be treated as other people.

Fenris could not forget the forced atrocities he had seen, nor the accidents. He still could smell the scent of burned animal flesh, an accident that had been caused by a young mageling who was still trying to learn control. He still _felt_ the zap of electricity from an undertrained elf who had panicked when Danarius had stalked into the room. And he still remembered the slaves that had died to keep him, his master’s project, alive and breathing. He could no more erase the sight of the pale bodies piled up, the memory of the scent of decay and death assaulting his nostrils, as he could heal these scars on his body.

Granted, mages were still people, just inherently dangerous. A man could pick up a sword, but he can just as easily put it back down again. A mage could never put down his magic, could never fully give up being what he was, unless he was made Tranquil. 

Mages, despite what Anders claimed otherwise, were not normal people, and they never would be. He had tried to tell the mage this from day one, but it would seem that this particular life fact would not penetrate Anders’ skull. Even with what they were to each other now, Anders still refused to see reason.

And the healer was alluring because…well, that statement spoke for itself. Even in the beginning, Fenris did admit that the man was compassionate; if you were wounded, he would heal you - even if you were firmly anti-mage, as Fenris could attest on numerous occasions. Add to that Anders’ penchant for refusing payment for services rendered from a very desperate population, and his admittedly good looks…yes, Fenris thought idly. He could see where Varric had been coming from with the whole ‘tragic romantic hero of an apostate’. 

He would never admit it without a great deal of coaxing, but some of the books he enjoyed learning to read most were those simple children’s tales of courage and bravery, and of the hero saving the day. He really enjoyed the one with the griffons in it; a tale of the Grey Wardens, riding their loyal griffons and raining glorious death from above. Fenris liked those stories; probably because he knew he wasn’t such a good man, could never make those kinds of choices or sacrifices. A hero, however, did what needed to be done to help others, even if the cost was incredibly high.

He just hoped this particular story wouldn’t end the way the dwarf claimed it would. Fenris wasn’t exactly sure what he had with the mage, but he was attached enough to not want the ‘hero’ to die.

The ‘hero’ grunted in his sleep, his long legs kicking slightly as he dreamed. Amused, Fenris reached out, gently running his fingers down the back of the mage’s neck. Anders made a contented sound, and his legs stopped their running.

Tugging the other man closer against his body (it was _not_ cuddling), Fenris drifted back to sleep, relatively happy with the way things were.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been a simple errand; they had both signed up to help clear out a den of supposed blood mages in a derelict corner of the city, conveniently close by. Fenris had signed up because it provided money; Anders had signed on with the hope of helping the ‘misguided’ mages.

“I mean, blood magic is wrong, no doubt about it,” Anders chattered as they waited at the rendezvous point for the other hired hands. “But if they are cornered, they’ll panic and use it. If we talk them down-”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“If you were cornered,” Fenris repeated, glancing at the healer from under his bangs. “Would you resort to blood magic?”

Anders hesitated. “Not for myself, no. I’d like to think I could use other, less damning means to get myself out of trouble.”

Fenris mulled over that as he tightened his gauntlets again. His first fight after recovering from his injuries had been exhilarating, but rough on his body. This time it wasn’t Templars or guards he would be facing; mages were, and always would be, more dangerous.

Eyeing Anders, he voiced a question that had been nagging him.

“What about someone else?”

Anders bit his lip, and with the abrupt arrival of the leader of their misfit group, the mage didn’t get a chance to answer the elf’s question.

Fenris didn’t mind; he was dreading what the healer would have said.

~ ~ ~ ~

It was a rough and brutal fight, but shorter than expected. Anders hadn’t even gotten the chance to offer the trapped men a peace offering; demons had immediately spawned out of the darkness, and the healer had been forced to fry one of them if he wanted to keep his head.

Fenris, at first, had been thrilled with the rush that came with battle, the sense of purpose and calm stealing over him like a comforting, warm blanket. It didn’t matter that they were mages, that there were demons here; they cut and bled and fell like anything else. His blade was an extension of himself, his footing sure and swift. His body was his own once more; damaged, yes, but still in one whole piece. Demons and men fell to his sword, and he danced and spun around the battlefield.

It wasn’t until after they had left and made their way back to their room that he realized something was off. His back was slowly starting to throb, and any movement made with his arms, legs, or neck was starting to become too much. It took most of his willpower to follow Anders upstairs instead of making a beeline for a handy chair to rest. By the time they were inside their room, he could barely move without pain registering in all corners of his mind. 

He glanced aside at Anders, measuring and calculating. The mage looked worn, but not necessarily exhausted. Fenris debated on not alerting the other man to his problem; he could tend to himself, couldn’t he? All he had to do was bend down and-

And bite his tongue against even more pain. No, the armor was not coming off.

Resigned to his fate, he did the only thing he could do.

“I…Anders,” he muttered.

“Fenris?” the other asked, already in the process of taking his blood soaked clothing off. “What’s wrong?”

“I need some help with my armor,” the elf said quietly. “I, I can’t-”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” There it was- that concern that was the same yet different from what he gave other patients Fenris had seen him tend to. The concern was genuine; it was the level of worry and tenderness in the other’s eyes that made the elf realize just how much Anders _truly_ cared for him.

It was a little unnerving, but not as much as it used to be.

“No, just very sore,” Fenris replied, wincing as he held his arms away from his sides, trying to help the other man as Anders started to pull and tug and unbuckle his armor.

“You’re still not used to the weight and all the fighting,” Anders sighed. “You’re still building up your strength and stamina. I shouldn’t have allowed you to-”

“To _what_?” Fenris gasped in relief as the weight was lifted from his chest and back; the pain was still there, but on a lesser scale. His muscles were Not Happy with him. “To go and fight? You could not have stopped me.”

“True,” Anders chuckled behind him, his warm breath making Fenris shiver. He stilled, leaning back slightly against the gentle fingers that stroked his bare shoulder.

“Pants?” 

Fenris shook his head. “They can stay on.”

“Where do you hurt?”

“Back, shoulders,” Fenris replied, letting the mage gently push him toward their bed.

“Lay on your stomach,” Anders commanded. “I’ll give you a massage. Non-magical,” he immediately added with a laugh at the wary look Fenris gave him. “I’ll just use my hands, alright? Let me put some clean trousers on and we’ll get started.”

Nodding, the elf crawled onto the covers, trying to ignore the pain that came with even the simplest movements of his body. He relaxed into the soft mattress with a groan, turning his head to the side so he could watch Anders work from the corner of his eye.

The mage moved with quick efficiency, digging some salve out of his bag and coming over beside the bed, in line of Fenris’ view. He set the jar on the bedside table, giving the elf a measured look.

“Do you mind if I…?” he made a hand motion towards Fenris’ back that took a moment to translate.

Fenris turned his head the other way, no longer looking at the healer. “Do what is necessary,” he said.

“You don’t mind having a mage at your back?” Anders asked, even as the bed dipped under his weight. “Knowing what I am capable of? Knowing what I’ve done?”

Fenris shuddered as he felt the other man gingerly crawling over his legs, perching himself on the elf’s calves. He could feel the body heat rolling off the healer, could feel the tension of the other man; he was waiting for an answer, ready to leave if that was what Fenris wanted.

“If it is you, I do not mind.”

“Thank you,” Anders said quietly, shifting above the elf. The sharp, cool smell of the salve made Fenris’ nose twitch, and then he let out a soft sigh as warm, slick hands descended and rested on the nape of his neck.

Fenris let out a soft whine as the mage’s fingers dug in, painful at this point, making the elf’s shoulders scrunch up closer to his neck instinctually which made everything else _burn_ which made him writhe even _more_ \- 

He froze at the feel of lips lightly brushing his trembling shoulders.

“Relax,” Anders said gently. “I know it hurts, but you have to stay relaxed or it won’t help. Rubbing the salve in will ease the tension a little.”

Nodding, Fenris slowly, cautiously, relaxed his posture, eventually bearing his nape fully to the mage and burying his face down into the sheets.

It still hurt, but the salve warmed his skin, easing some of the tension along the way, while the mage’s fingers and palms did the rest. His back was what had been bothering him, but as the tension eased in his neck, some of the pain in his back lessened as well. He relaxed further into the bedding as Anders worked his fingers deep into the elf’s muscles, coaxing the pain and stiffness from them and leaving warm and loosened muscles behind.

Those blessed, long, strong fingers were making a fool out of the elf, but he found himself not caring in the slightest. It was only him and Anders- what did it matter if every stroke, every movement that the mage pressed into his skin made him whimper and whine like a pathetic dog? Only Anders could hear him, only Anders would ever hear him make these noises. Those hands slowly erasing away pain and leaving warm, gentle pleasure in their wake- strong hands, calloused fingers, hands that healed gently and told him so much about the mage. Fenris loved them, as much as he could love a body part.

He wondered, idly, if the other man had ever played an instrument. The way the pads of those fingers dug and stroked along the gaps in his backbone made him wonder if, perhaps in another lifetime, Anders had played something- a lute, perhaps?

Fenris twitched, hips digging into the mattress when Anders reached his lower back. The mage chuckled, but continued his work, fingers digging in and drawing a breathy moan from the elf. Unconcerned with his behavior or actions, Fenris arched more into the touch, seeking more.

“Glad you’re enjoying this almost as much as I am,” Anders said, sounding amused.

“You enjoy this?” Fenris breathed, sighing when Anders dug in a little harder into the muscle. “You are doing all the work.”

“I love making you unwind,” Anders whispered, drawing another shudder from the elf- the healer’s voice had become heavier, huskier. “I love that you trust me enough to show yourself like this, that you trust me enough to help you.” His fingers drifted, stroking Fenris’ right buttock gently, but hard enough to make the warrior shudder again.

“And I love touching you. I’m getting as much out of this as you are.”

Fenris turned to look over his shoulder, eyeing the healer. Anders had that same look in his eye as he had had that night he had…displayed himself. Fenris’ cock twitched, already all too willing due to the effects of the massage. Flushing slightly at the reaction that memory brought, Fenris licked his lips, thinking.

“How…do you see this ending?”  
Anders smirked. “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

Fenris hesitated. He _did_ want to know the answer- he was just unsure what would happen if…it went further than what they currently had. 

He respected the healer a great deal, and he certainly cared enough to not want to hurt the other man. This mage, formerly the bane of his existence, had proven to be Fenris’ most valued friend. And friends didn’t hurt each other. 

After what had happened with Hawke…well, Fenris wanted to avoid a repeat performance. Anders certainly didn’t deserve that happening to him, and Fenris didn’t want just a one night stand with the man.

The mage’s expression softened when the elf did not answer and Fenris was surprised when he reached out and simply started to caress his cheek. When Anders continued the motion, Fenris closed his eyes, leaning into the gentle touch.

“I see this ending here,” the mage murmured, shifting and rolling off of the warrior. Fenris wriggled closer, spooning up against the human. “I see this…taking time, patience. And I intend to enjoy it.”

The elf let out a contented sound as Anders slowly wrapped his arms around the warrior’s torso, hands splayed over his belly, his face nuzzling the back of his neck and his hair. Timidly, Fenris reached back, jerkily stroking the mage’s face. His movements became smoother, more confident as the mage stayed put. 

This…this was nice, Fenris realized. He was pain-free, his muscles almost gooey, and this man was here with him, holding him gently and closely, like any lover would. 

“You are a saint,” he snorted.

Anders laughed. “Me? No, no. Just patient. And I know when to appreciate the small things in life.”

Fenris shifted a little. “Such as?”

He felt Anders shrug. “Waking up, alive, is a good start. Having food in my belly. You still alive and well. Petting that bowlegged cat that lives downstairs. You know, the little things.”

“Did- do you yearn for more?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Fenris pulled away a little, curling further in on himself. “I didn’t, for the longest time.” He rolled over, fully facing the curious-looking apostate. “Slaves do not look forward to the future- all they worry about is the next minute, the next hour, and what that and the whims of their master will bring. A slave does not dream of happiness, a family, or love. They just exist, for their master, by their master, because of their master.”

Honey brown eyes blinked down at him. “When did you start wishing for more?”

Fenris snorted, eyes closing. “When do you think? When Hawke came into my life.”

He could feel the tension curling in the mage’s frame at the mention of his former lover. Fenris opened his eyes, capturing the gaze of the mage in his calm one.

“I am mending, my healer.” He smiled, reaching out and brushing aside a strand of hair. “I would not even be alive if it were not for you. I do not believe I have said it before, but thank you for not letting me die.”

Anders opened his mouth to say something, but Fenris silenced him with a finger landing firmly on the mage’s lips. Leaning in, he removed the finger, his lips gently brushing against the healer’s. After a moment, Anders was kissing back, just as slow and soft.

They might have progressed further, Fenris reflected, if it wasn’t for that damn assassin.

“Excuse me, love birds,” he sounded amused. “But I need help on an assignment. Now. You can ravage each other afterwards, if I get to watch.”

Fenris thought that the massage had helped a great deal; he was fast enough throwing the pillow that it actually hit the smug looking assassin right in the face.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spicy Shimmy. ;)

One thing Fenris had not cared much for in Kirkwall was that they always seemed to end up in the same places over and over again. If it wasn’t a dark alley that looked like any other dark alley, it was a warehouse with the same layout as another one across town, or it was the Wounded Coast with its many caves that also had similar layouts.

Denerim, and the surrounding countryside, was not like Kirkwall.

With the arrival of autumn, the air was crisp, and the surrounding farmlands were turning a warm shade of gold, occasionally dotted with the blue and red of fall flowers that had bloomed. Idly, Fenris thought he had not seen fields this colorful since he had left Teventer. 

“Ferelden is much more beautiful than I was led to believe,” he said as they passed by a lone tree bedecked in red and green foliage. “The colors seem so much more vibrant here.”

“I actually missed some of my extra-curricular Circle classes when I came to Kirkwall because of this weather and the scenery,” Anders laughed. “Odd, isn’t it? A mage who escaped seven times, wishing he were back in the Tower taking a painting class.”

“Why?” Fenris asked, curious. He had seen no proof of the mage having anything but a passing interest in art.

“Because in that class, a Senior Enchanter would accompany us across the lake to the opposite shore, and we would spend the whole day on the bank, painting what we could see. It was on days like this that I remember being as close to happy as I had ever been. We could paint…anything. It was a small freedom we enjoyed. Some painted nature, others painted towns…” He sighed. “Of course, when I started trying to escape, I wasn’t allowed into classes like that anymore. Ah, to be that young and stupid again.”

“You will manage, I’m sure,” Fenris droned, smirking at the ‘Hey!’ from the mage. “What did you paint?” the elf asked after a moment.

Anders offered him a sidelong look. “When I first started? Golden fields, looming forests, dreamscapes and bits of memory of what I could remember of the Anderfels. When I hit twelve, thirteen…” he laughed. “Naked girls and boys. My instructor didn’t know whether to be amused or upset.”

He and Anders followed Zevran out of the city, and down a dirt road that wound its’ way through the countryside. They passed a few travelers heading the other way, but the elf was surprised that they were not waylaid by bandits, especially this far outside a major city. In Kirkwall they seemed to jump out of the very night sky or appear out of nowhere when he turned a corner. 

“I see the Commander has been busy,” Anders said, nodding at the empty road- he seemed to have noticed the same thing that Fenris had. “Unless her reputation is again preceding her?”

Zevran chuckled. “She may or may not have encouraged the rumors that said she had placed protective wards around the city that never weaken, and that turn would-be raiders and bandits into dust.”

Anders cocked an eyebrow. “As a former classmate of hers, I can say with absolute certainty that her glyphs and wards were always absolute rubbish.”

“True,” the assassin shrugged, offering a rather feral grin. “But the bandits don’t know that, and her killing the Arch Demon is still fresh in everyone’s minds.”

They continued to walk as it became darker, and as it became colder, Fenris’ feet started to hurt, the scarred ridges starting to throb. He frowned down at them, cursing his scars silently. It was bad enough to still be working his way back to his physical peak, but to have his feet and neck always tender-

“How much further, Zev?” Anders called. “I’d like a quick rest.”

The assassin nodded, calling a halt and setting himself to the side of the road, plopping into the grass and looking up at the sky, perhaps checking their direction.

“What’s hurting?”

Fenris started, turning to look up at the mage that was suddenly right next to him, his scent washing over the elf. Fenris drew in a deep breath, pain momentarily forgotten as he just basked in- he blinked, catching himself, fighting a blush. He cleared his throat and turned away, ears lowering apologetically.

“It’s…just the top of my feet. I do not think the chill in the air agrees with them.”

He watched as Anders knelt before him, gazing at his feet. “I can try to reduce the pain, but it won’t do you any good,” he said, looking up at the warrior sadly. “It might be best if we found you some boots to help keep the cold off of them though.”

“Do not waste your energy,” Fenris said, waving the mage off. “I can handle the pain until we get to where we are going.”

“Wherever that is,” Anders muttered.

They walked for another hour or so before they came to a small cottage right at the edge of a forest. Zevran held up a hand, motioning for them to wait there, and entered alone.

He came out a few moments later, a grin on his face.

“Come. We have some hunting to do. There are ruins nearby, and the concerned woman in there is afraid for a young girl she saw go in there.”

“Ruins?” Anders asked, sounding worried.

“Girl?” Fenris repeated dread starting to fill his stomach. He stole a glance with the mage, and they both seemed to share the same thoughts:

_There are abandoned ruins in the middle of nowhere where a strange girl disappeared into them?_

_This won’t end well._

~ ~ ~ ~

“I suppose Ferelden really isn’t that different from the rest of Thedas,” Fenris growled, ducking down and eviscerating an attacking corpse with his upswing, black bile spewing out onto the stone floor, nearly making the elf slip.

“How do you figure?” Anders grunted; his back was to Fenris’ as he set fire to another attacker, quickly reducing it to ash.

“When women or ruins are involved, it nearly always leads to trouble,” Fenris replied, decapitating an archer cleanly, the skull flying off in a random direction.

“But that is what makes it so exciting!” Zevran purred from the darkness, taking out the last corpse with a brutal stab in the back, daggers twisting sharply before pulling free. The body fell with a heavy thump. “Between the ruins and the possibility of rescuing a damsel in distress, I’m all aquiver my friends.”

The ruins were what one would expect from molding, decaying ancient Teventer structures- demons, possessed corpses, traps, and an air of despair and suffering that had lingered despite the centuries. They had been going deeper in these ruins for the better part of the day, and they still had seen no sign of a girl in here.

They continued onward, despite this.

After fighting their way through more corpses, the trio came to a large circular room with only one item in it, which stood proudly at the center, where their target stood, hip cocked out to the side, dark hair trailing down her back, and her bare thighs glistening in the low light.

Zevran got to her first.

“Isabela! My first love, my only captain,” he purred, darting towards her.

Isabela turned to the assassin, offering him a crooked smile, and a dagger at his throat. “Zev,” she greeted, friendly despite the dangerous glint in her eye. “Why are you here, you poor man?”

“Someone was worried about the young girl who came in here and wanted us to check it out,” the assassin said immediately, his smile still on his face. “As if I would ever take out that outstanding bounty on you, my dear.”

Satisfied, Isabela replaced her dagger, finally looking past the blonde elf. Her eyes went wide as they landed on Anders, and they blew even wider when she finally spotted Fenris lurking in the shadows.

“Well, aren’t you two coming out to say hello too?”

Anders was out in the open like a flash, Fenris following behind more cautiously. As he drew closer, he did realize that it was Isabela; no demon could properly replicate that smile, those eyes, or the way she seemed so comfortable in her own skin. And a demon, he realized suddenly, would not allow their creation to be marred in any way; Isabela had a small scar now on her bottom lip, and there were wrinkles in the corners of her eyes.

“Ah, I thought it was you Anders,” she said fondly, offering the mage a friendly smile and a kiss on the cheek- an action that made Fenris clench his teeth for a moment before gaining control of himself. 

“No one can pull off the scruffy under-fed Apostate like you can.”

“Hey! I’ve been eating,” he said.

Her eyes slid from him back to Fenris, a wicked grin dancing not only on her mouth but in her eyes. “Ah, but eating _what_ , I wonder? Have you been getting enough protein in your diet?”

She couldn’t know anything, the elf told himself firmly. She was a pirate, not a witch…probably.

“Isabela,” Fenris offered stiffly, nodding in greeting.

“Sweet thing,” she returned, surprising him and pulling him into a deep hug. He awkwardly returned it, patting her on the back.

“I ripped Hawke a new one when I found out what she had done to you,” she whispered. “Couldn’t beat her, of course, but I made my opinion known. I _danced_ when she died. After seeing you like this, I almost wish she were still alive so I could gut her. No one deserves that,” she held a hand over the scars on his arms, respectfully not touching them. “Especially not you.”

He was touched- shocked, but touched. It was rare to see the true caring side to Isabela, though she was always friendly. He could not count how many times she had propositioned him or tried to guess the color of his undergarments. Yet he could count on one hand how many times she had seemed truly distressed and truly upset for another person. She wasn’t as heartless as she wanted to portray. 

Just as that thought came to mind, he jumped when she reached down and gave his ass a loving squeeze.

“You haven’t changed one bit I see,” he snarled, backing away, just out of reach of her fast and dexterous hands.

The pirate shrugged and gave a typical Isabela response. “What’s to fix when you’re perfect?”

“So what are you doing here, if I may ask my sweet Isabela?” Zevran said, sounding more businesslike than before.

“I’m running an errand for Kitten and her new clan,” Isabela said, motioning to what Fenris now saw (with building dread) was a mirror. “She had heard rumors, and so she sent me to see if they were true.”

“Are they?” Anders asked, giving the mirror a critical look.

Isabela shrugged. “As far as I can tell, it is a mirror, but if it is still magical, I can’t tell without probably touching it. And after hearing what happened to Kitten’s clans mate, I’m in no hurry to do that.”

“I can help you there,” Anders offered, stepping forward. He was halted with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Fenris glared at the healer, voicing his unhappiness at this turn of events with merely a look. They both knew the dangers if this mirror was anything like the one the Blood Mage had dabbled with before. Add into the equation that any magical item could have unexpected traits, the unknown history (magical and otherwise) of the ruins, and this was turning into something that was making Fenris want to grab the mage and drag him away from this mirror, this room, these ruins, and back somewhere that had a door that could lock, and that had a nice bed so he could toss the larger man down, follow him, and never leave again.

All this, he hoped he showed in his gaze.

Anders seemed to get the message, because his gaze softened a little. “Fenris,” he said softly. “I’ve dealt with unknown magical items before, I know what to do and not do. I won’t take any unnecessary risks, and this won’t take very long, I promise.”

It wasn’t the response Fenris wanted, but it was the best he could hope for. Grudgingly, he let the healer go, and watched avidly as the mage stood in front of the mirror.

Anders did not touch it; he merely stared at it, looking thoughtful. He started muttering something under his breath, hand lifting and making unknown signs at the mirror. Fenris kept one eye on the mirror, waiting for any sign of danger, while the other eye watched the mage’s hands move. Such wonderful hands the healer had, he thought. His hands were thorn-bitten, rough from holding a staff, yet exceedingly gentle and graceful.

“It’s a dud,” Anders said after several moments of this. “It may have worked once, but it’s completely empty of magic now.”

“Damn,” Isabela muttered. “Kitten will be so disappointed. Oh well. I’ll just have to find something shiny to help take her mind off of it.”

They searched the room, Anders pausing thoughtfully in front of a small chest. “You know, when a room is this big, there is usually something horrible and monstrous residing in it. Where’s the beastie?”

“Do not tempt Fate,” Zevran hissed from across the room. “She is friends with Fortune, who is a very tricky whore.”

There was a low roar from above, and the very columns started to shudder.

Anders offered Fenris a repentant, tight smile. “Um…knicker weasels?”

~ ~ ~ ~ 

It had been the strangest fight Fenris could remember to date; animated corpses possessed by demons, he was familiar with.

But the ancient bones of a dragon that roared and spat _lightning_ at him? That was a new one. What made it even more odd was that it was, of all people, Anders who took control and seemed to know what to do. Isabela and Zevran were commanded to hide until the skeletal beast had turned away from them, then strike when they got the chance, disappearing into the shadows when it turned to them once more.

Anders sent bolt after bolt of ice at the creature, all the while calling to it and taunting it. Fenris used the opportunity to run right at the beast, dodging a claw swipe, striking his sword against a leg bone. The bone cracked, but didn’t break. Fenris whirled back away from the beast, grimly realizing that this would take longer than he wished. He concentrated on the beast, keeping an eye on Anders and darting in when he could to help the mage.

By the time the dead beast fell, Fenris could barely keep himself from collapsing. As the only one who had any heavy weaponry, he had been battering at the damn thing most of the time- and getting in close. Right before it had gone down with a final blast of magic from Anders, it had grabbed Fenris in its’ mouth, clamping down and shaking him like a dog with a bone before spitting him out and crushing him to the floor with a large clawed paw.

Fenris knew he should probably not have stood up, but it was a matter of pride. His head swam with dizziness, from both pain and blood loss, but at least he wasn’t laying down like that beast, he was still standing and-

“If you don’t sit your sorry arse down _now_ , I’ll light your pants on fire,” Anders snarled as he came into view, hands already glowing with blue healing magic.

It was surprising to see the mage so upset without Fenris having said anything. It was even more surprising that Fenris found himself immediately obeying the mage, gingerly sitting himself down on a chunk of rock and setting aside his sword so the healer could get where he needed without obstruction.

“Cracked ribs, wrenched limbs, puncture wounds,” Anders muttered as he ran his hands over the elf’s shivering form. “Well, considering what it was, you got off lucky.”

Fenris didn’t reply, save for a soft, pleasured sigh as the magic started to course through his frame. He let out a soft moan of appreciation, not caring if the two rogues heard him; for all they knew, he was expressing pleasure at no longer being in pain, not…the residual effects.

The healing lasted for several long moments, the area silent save for the hum and Anders’ magic and the sound of Zevran and Isabela chatting as they looted the skeleton and proceeded to look for more loot around the area.

The magic faded, and Fenris gingerly flexed some of his muscles. Some were sore, but he could deal with that. He looked up, about to offer Anders thanks, when the words died before they left his mouth.

The mage was gazing at him with a soft, tender expression that tugged at something in Fenris’ chest. Keeping eye contact with those warm brown eyes, the elf reached out, gently grasping one of the healer’s hands, and pulled it up to his lips, gently planting a kiss on the inside of a calloused palm. He closed his eyes as he heard the sharp intake of breath from the other man and then kissed his hand again, tongue darting out to lightly lick at at a small scar before retreating once more.

“Thank you,” Anders said quietly. He offered the warrior a small smile. “Very chivalrous of you.”

Fenris shifted a little uncomfortably as the two rouges came into view, heading their way. “I am no knight in shining armor.”

“I never wanted a knight in shining armor,” Anders replied, completely serious. “I wanted someone who wore armor that gave me easy access to their assets.”

The pirate and assassin looked at Fenris like he had lost his mind when they reached the pair, but Fenris just couldn’t stop laughing. It didn’t help that Anders shared a smug smile with him.

“Oh, tell me what’s got him in stitches, please?” Isabela begged Anders. “His laugh is adorable!”

Fenris immediately stopped laughing, which made Anders start up his own peel of laughter due to the look of complete outrage that was directed at the pirate.

“I am _not_ adorable.”

“You should see him when he blushes,” Zevran smirked. “Very enduring. Cute, even. It makes me want to whisper dirty things in his ear.”

“I am not-”

“Whoops, look at the time, let’s get out before more beasties come,” Anders interrupted. “Come on, come on, this mage doesn’t do well in cramped dark places. Let’s go!”

~ ~ ~ ~

Isabela led them to the Dalish camp, reaching it just at sunset. Fenris was actually surprised at the greeting the Dalish gave them- he was used to being barely tolerated as a ‘flat-ear’, yet this group seemed…friendly. Several of the warriors had way-laid him when he had entered the camp, asking about his weapon and form in battle. A little nervous, Fenris did the best he could with their questions. They didn’t seem to mind his awkwardness; indeed, the leader of the group, a young dark-haired elf named Gilanmar, kept offering Fenris encouraging smiles and even chuckled at some of the small stories of the adventures that Fenris told them.

At first, he thought they were genuinely interested in what he had to say. But then the warrior realized that Gilanmar was getting closer, and had a decidedly _interested_ look on his face when he looked at Fenris. When he reached out and gently stroked Fenris’ ear, he quickly babbled something that he hoped wasn’t too rude and retreated back towards where Isabela and Anders were. He promptly took up post behind the healer, hoping the larger man would block him from other unwanted advances.

“Looks like you made a new friend,” Isabela said, nodding towards the group of warriors who were still watching Fenris, lead of course by Gilanmar, who was giving Fenris a very open, friendly look.

Fenris resisted the urge to snarl. “There may have been a miscommunication.”

“Oh no,” Isabela replied, her eyes glittering with amusement. “The Dalish are quite adept at reading body language. He knows you are… _taunt_ with frustration. You talked with him, which makes him think he has a chance of bending you over a barrel and fucking your brains out until you aren’t so taunt anymore.”

Fenris stared at her, mouth opening to argue…but nothing came out. He blinked, glancing back towards the group of warriors. Gilanmar caught his gaze and offered him a very predatory, very promising, smile.

_Oh, no. No no no no-_

“Help me,” he groaned.

He should have known that look in Anders’ eyes meant trouble. “Gladly.”

Fenris then found himself in the mage’s arms, leaning so far back that he only had one foot on the ground, and he was staring right up into Anders’ face. The mage looked incredibly smug- Fenris opened his mouth to protest this sort of display, but was silenced when the other man’s mouth caught his in a deep, passionate kiss. Fenris’ brain stopped working- that was the only reason he kissed back, he told himself later. That was the only reason that it was Isabela’s cat-calls that stopped them from continuing further, in front of a much larger audience.

Anders righted the warrior, smirking at the few cheers and claps directed at them. “I hate you,” Fenris gritted out, head spinning a little from lack of air and ears flushing darkly under the scrutiny. 

“I know,” Anders laughed. “But you asked for help and I delivered.”

“Told you they’d do it,” Isabela called over to the assassin, who was sitting in front of a fire a few feet away. With a grumble, he removed something from his jerkin, and tossed it at her. The pirate caught the sovereign deftly, automatically biting it to check authenticity. 

“You bet on us?” Fenris asked, feeling some of the color fading from his ears as everyone started going back to their own business. “What was the exact bet?”

The pirate smiled. “I can’t tell you. It’s still on-going. And look, your new friends have come over to say hello.”

Fenris looked over the group of elves warily; so far, this group had seemed friendly by Dalish standards. He was used to being called names because he wasn’t Dalish, he was used to being looked at like a strange dog that could turn on them at any moment. This was what he had learned from his first and last Dalish tribe he had met.

This tribe seemed infinitely friendlier, but he did know that as a whole, Dalish tended to frown on elves having relationships with non-elves; specifically, with humans. Tense, waiting for whatever to come, Fenris waited for the group, for Gilanmar, to speak.

Gilanmar gave him a small nod, eyes decidedly cooler now, and then turned his attention to Anders. With his tall frame, dark hair and very blue eyes, Gilanmar was a rather intimidating Dalish, especially since his face was, unless he smiled, rather stony and unreadable. The azure tattoos that curled around his eyes and flared out on his forehead added another layer of intimidation.

He spoke, his previously warm baritone rather chilly now. “You intend to court our city brother?”

“Yes,” Anders replied, undaunted.

Gilanmar looked the mage over slowly, a smile cracking his stony façade by whatever he saw. “I see. Come, we have much to discuss.”

And with that, Fenris watched his security blanket get whisked away by a group of handsome Dalish hunters.

“Oh, poor sweetheart,” Isabela laughed. She took his hand, gently leading him away. “Come on, let’s go see Kitten. She’ll be happy to see you.”

‘Happy’ was an understatement, Fenris realized moments later- why the Blood Mage was this enthusiastic to see him, when he had raged and railed against her kind every chance he could get, he would never know.

However, the witch had always been…kind to him, he realized as she darted first to Isabela, planting a kiss on her cheek. The least he could do was act civil at the very least-

“Fenris?” The witch turned to him, green eyes blown wide. “Fenris!” she squealed, and for the second time that day, he found himself in a surprise hug. Unlike Isabela, however, Merrill was actually squeezing him rather hard, making breathing difficult.

“Kitten, let him breathe,” the pirate said gently.

“Really? Oops,” she immediately let him go, letting him gasp for air. “Sorry Fenris. I just thought I’d never see you again, after-” she stopped herself from continuing, biting her lip. “Sorry,” she offered. “I’m babbling. I’ll shut up now.”

“It is…alright,” Fenris coughed stiffly. “It is good to see you are still alive, mage.”

“Oh, Fenris, that’s very sweet of you to say,” Merrill chattered. “I know you don’t like magic at all, but I heard you followed another mage into camp? Who-”

“Merrill,” Anders called out, appearing as if out of nowhere- the Dalish hunters were a few yards off, smiling at each other and talking animatedly.

“Merrill,” Anders said again, offering the small elf a smile. “So good to see you.”

Merrill blinked for a moment, glancing back between Fenris and Anders. She then let out another squeal, turning to Isabela. 

“Izzy,” she said, nearly jumping up and down in excitement. “Are they-”

“Uh huh,” the pirate drawled, a wicked smile on her face. “You just missed a very public kiss.”

“Will you stop hugging me?!” Fenris said, his snarl turning into a whimper when the witch started squeezing him once more.

“Merrill, sweetheart,” Anders said, coming over and gently prying the smaller elf from Fenris. “Kindly keep your hands off my vhenan’ara.”

Whatever Anders had said had an almost magical effect on the little witch; Merrill immediately let him go, turning to stare at the human. 

“Is…truly, Anders?” She glanced back at Fenris, who didn’t deign to even look at her while he fixed his armor. “Really? You two have always been at each other’s throats. Even Isabela’s friend fiction didn’t delve into…is he really your vhenan’ara?”

“Yes,” Anders said, just as soundly as he had answered the Dalish hunters.

Merrill beamed. “I’m so very happy for you two! Oh, you’ll have to come to our festival tonight! We hold it once a year in the autumn to celebrate and give thanks for a bountiful year. There will be food and dancing-”

“And snogging,” Isabela added.

“And snogging,” Merrill parroted, looking confused for a moment. “Well, that’s not necessary, but it wouldn’t be frowned on.”

“What, pray tell, is a vhena’ara?” Fenris asked.

“It’s…oh, it’s very sweet of Anders to call you that,” Merrill said, seemingly unable to keep from smiling. “It’s an endearment, like sweetheart or love. I suppose roughly translated it means ‘heart’s desire’. It’s a very…sweet, tender name. Untouched.”

“How so?” Fenris asked, unable to stop himself.

Merrill, surprisingly, blushed. “Um, newer couples tend to use that term up until…they get their heart’s desire, then they usually start calling each other ‘love’ or-”

“Wait a moment,” Fenris said, halting her with a calm look. “By ‘getting their heart’s desire’ you mean…”

“They fuck,” Isabela crowed.

“Isabela!” Merrill scolded. “One would not use that term if that was all that they were after! It is one of the most romantic expressions of love we have in our society, and-” 

Fenris latched a hand onto Anders’ coat, tugging him off to the side. “Excuse us. I need to discuss something with this one.”

“Um, Fenris,” Anders said nervously. “I didn’t really know what it meant,” he started babbling when they halted behind an aravel. “Your friends talked to me about my intentions towards you; I told them, and then they asked me if you were my vhena’ara. It sounded pretty, so I said yes.”

Fenris stared. “You said yes to a word you had no idea what it meant.” 

“Yes.”

“Because it was pretty.”

“Yes.”

“And it turns out that not only is it a term of endearment, it also broadcasts to the _whole Dalish tribe_ that we haven’t fully consummated our relationship?”

Anders offered the elf a sheepish look, scratching the back of his neck. “Erm, it would appear that way, yes.”

Fenris sighed, leaving the mage by the aravel and headed back towards Isabela. “Wench,” he said in greeting, eyes dull. “Where does an elf go to get drunk around here?”

~ ~ ~ ~

Several hours later, and the celebration was in full swing. Fenris did not mind as much as he normally would- it was amazing what alcohol could do for one’s tolerance of noise, he mused, tipping his mug back as he watched several male Dalish start dancing and hooting around the bonfire, chasing and being chased by each other. Several of the women joined in the chase, laughing and calling to each other playfully.

Zevran was keeping him company as they drank, the assassin surprisingly much easier to tolerate when he wasn’t making snide comments or leering at Fenris or Anders.

“Ah, looks like we have a treat before us,” the assassin purred, licking his lips. Unperturbed, Fenris glanced over at the bonfire- and nearly dropped his mug.

Anders had changed out of his robes, and was now wearing low-cut trousers and a leather vest that was open- fully showing off the mage’s physique. A belt of shells draped over his hips, clinking with every step he took. His skin gleamed, as if he had been oiled up, and his hair was down- beautiful blonde with red in the fire light. Anders spotted him, offering Fenris a smile as he quietly talked to the musicians before stepping fully into the firelight- and Fenris’ line of sight. With a deep breath…Anders turned his back to Fenris.

“One of his better sides,” the assassin whispered. “Such a strong, lanky frame for a mage. What wonderful positions you could contort him into-”

“Hush,” Fenris said, waving his mug at the other elf. “Do not hiss such things in my ear.”

The elf watched, transfixed as the drums started out a simple beat, and…the mage’s backside followed the beat, shaking and rolling to the beat. 

“Hmm,” Isabela’s voice purred on Fenris’ other side. “Such a scrumptious arse. Can you imagine getting your hands on that, Zev?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare, not with our broody friend here already laying claim,” the blonde elf laughed.

He was just going to ignore them, both of them. He would not be distracted from…this.

Then the bells came in, and the healer started adding steps, dancing out, hips moving and undulating rhythmically, the shells clicking out the beat. Anders twirled once, gazing in Fenris’ direction and offering a mischievous wink. He stretched out his arms, hands curled up towards the elf, as if he could draw the warrior to him. 

“He wants you, Fenris,” Isabela cackled. “Why don’t you go to him?”

“Isabela,” Zevran said. “Give this poor man a little slack. You want him to engage Anders, here, in front of everyone? He’s inexperienced-”

“I don’t see how any of this is any of your business,” Fenris snarled, eyes flashing at the pair of rogues for a heartbeat before being drawn back to his mage.

Anders’ hips kept moving to the beat of the drums, his step going higher on every other beat or so and emphasizing his hips on others. When the drum rolled, his hips followed it exactly. He stepped out when the beat intensified, arms spreading out and legs darting out and his feet kicking up before pounding onto the ground, all the while his hips, his wonderful, _thrusting_ hips-

“Ah, what a lovely display,” Zevran purred next to him. “Imagine those moves against you, thrusting-”

“Be silent,” Fenris snapped. “I will not be distracted from this.”

The music played on, and Fenris did not tear his eyes away from Anders’ display. As the beat reached its’ crescendo, Anders twirled once, twice, arms up and emphasizing his biceps. When the drum gave a firm final beat, the mage froze; arms up, one foot firmly on the ground while the other was in mid-air.

Fenris noticed the elf from earlier, Gilanmar, was still watching Anders, staring at him as he danced. Fenris did not care much for the other warrior looking at his healer like that. He wondered, briefly, if it was a Dalish taboo for a guest to kill a clansman who was eyeing his…interest with… _interest_. 

“Oh Fenris,” Isabela sighed. “Why can’t you smolder at _me_ like that?”

The beat started again, this time more slow. Instead of dancing like before, Anders’ turned, offering the elf his profile and _flexed_ his stomach, undulating it with the beat. In the fire light, Fenris found his eyes transfixed on the small patch of golden hair starting at the bottom of the mage’s belly-button and disappearing under the man’s trouser line. Up, down, up, down. Then he started to shift and shake his hips with the undulating movements of his stomach, arms rising above his head, stretching out his form in a pleasing manner. Fenris couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Zevran chuckled. “You do know what this dance is for, yes?” 

Fenris grunted once, uncaring.

“To show off sex appeal, of course,” the assassin continued, unperturbed at Fenris’ disinterest. “See those lovely movements? Those are exactly the same movements you use when you have someone riding you-”

“Continue to blabber in my ear,” Fenris growled, eyes firmly fixed on Anders’ hips and pelvis. “And I will remove yours.”

“You know you just sound sexier the more you growl like that,” Isabela pointed out. “You should talk to Anders like that…well, more than you do usually, and I’ll guarantee he’ll be putty in your hands.”

Anders continued dancing, catching Fenris’ gaze firmly, arm raising to his shoulder level- as if holding onto someone; his hips started moving faster, more sharply, and Fenris had the sudden image of Anders holding him there, moving and grinding against him to the beat of the music. Flushing, he looked down at his mug, trying to calm his thoughts. Damn the pirate and the assassin for putting his mind in such a state.

He nearly choked when he looked back up, and Anders was _right there_ , still moving to the music. Fenris couldn’t look away if he wanted to- and with the mage’s crotch and abdomen right in his face, he most definitely did not want to look away. Anders offered the elf a quick laugh, turning his back to the warrior, presenting Fenris with a wonderful eye-level view of his rear. Fenris kept his gaze locked on that suddenly shaking, shimmying, _thrusting-_

 _Oh Maker,_ Fenris thought dizzily. People should not be able to move like that; it kept giving Fenris wonderful ideas on how those moves could be put to use in a much more private setting.

With a final quick shimmy, and a roll of his hips that brought the mage’s rear-end tantalizingly close, the song ended. The Dalish all let out cheers as Anders stepped back towards the circle of elves, offering them a quick bow.

That was it. The elf really couldn’t stand it anymore- he would probably regret this later, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do this _now._ Fenris swallowed the rest of his drink and stood.

“Healer.”

Anders turned to look back at Fenris, a knowing smile on his face. “Yes?”

Fenris strode over to the taller man, looking around him at the elf who had been eyeing the mage like a piece of meat. Meeting his eyes, he grabbed the waist of Anders’ trousers and pulled him along behind him, heading away from the fire and into the forest.

_Mine._

“Is everything alright, Fenris?” Anders asked, sounding concerned now.

Fenris didn’t answer, leading the mage deeper into the forest. Anders fell silent, probably cottoning on to what the elf was up to. Fenris didn’t care. Once they were far enough away from the noise and the light, Fenris let go of Anders’ trousers, stepping back to lean against a tree.

Anders cocked his head, looking worried. “Fenris? What-”

Fenris cleared his throat, halting the mage from finishing his question. “I…would like to request a private show, if you are amiable.”

He had never seen such a large, dangerous, predatory smile on the mage before. “Gladly. Would you, my good ser, perhaps be interested in my Spicy Shimmy?”

The elf settled on the ground, leaning his back against the tree. “Spicy Shimmy?” he asked, amused. “Is it as promising as it sounds?”

“Much better,” the mage chuckled. “I would _never_ show those Dalish this dance. Just you.”

That statement pleased Fenris far more than it should have. Possessive, indulgent feelings didn’t belong to a slave-

But he wasn’t a slave. Not anymore. A free man could do what he wanted, take what he wanted. 

He _wanted_ this.

He smiled. “Indulge me, then.”

Anders dipped, head inclined as he bowed gracefully to Fenris. “As Serrah Handsome wishes of me.”

There was no music for this dance the mage started, no extra light to highlight his muscles, no distractions in the form of Isabela and Zevran. 

Nothing except him and his slowly shimmying healer.

Fenris watched, completely bewitched by Anders’ movements; he was moving his hips like before, but slower, with more purpose, slowly inching his way closer to the seated elf.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Anders whispered, twirling gracefully with his hands raised above him. “Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

Fenris swallowed. To give voice to his desires in this way would certainly cement things, make them seem more real. He had no problem showing his desire through action…but with words? Actions spoke louder than words, yet everyone _wanted_ your word. Words…added a depth to things that actions could not. Actions were straightforward, blunt, with no real room for interpretation. Words were many faceted things; what was not said was just as important as what was said, and how you worded something could change the entire meaning.

Fenris was not good with words, especially when it came to himself. But, perhaps for this, he could try.

“You…fascinate me,” he admitted slowly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve never seen a man move like you do.”

“Isabela taught me this a while back,” Anders admitted. “She wanted to do more, but Justice wouldn’t allow anything past this dancing.”

“She taught you well,” Fenris replied, eyes easily following the mage’s undulating movements. “I’ve never thought as much about the male form as I have tonight. I have always found you pleasing to look at, but this-” he stopped, swallowing. 

“This?” Anders prompted softly. 

“This,” Fenris breathed. “My desire is much stronger than I realized.”

“Tell me what you want,” the mage said, coming to a stop in front of the elf, arms stretched towards the treetops, exposing his form. “Tell me what you want, and I will give you everything.”

The request is out before he can censor himself.

“Strip.”

The smile Anders gives him is nearly blinding in the darkness. “Gladly, Fenris,” he purred, starting to dance again, stomach flexing and rolling enticingly. As he did this, he slowly pulled his arms out of the vest, shrugging it off.

Fenris watched as Anders rid himself of the vest, then the belt, and his trousers with an unwavering gaze. The mage was talented, to be sure; Fenris knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep dancing, slow and sensual as it was, while taking his clothes off. Anders made it an art form.

The lines of his body shifted and wavered as Fenris watched, imagining that it was _him_ who was making Anders move like that. He wanted, desperately, to touch the other man, but he kept his hands to himself, clenching them tightly as the mage continued to dance.

Now Anders was down to his smalls, and Fenris could help the soft groan that escaped him as the mage started to trail a hand down his chest. Fenris easily imagined it was his own scarred hand dragging down that path, starting from the healer’s throat and drifting down to circle around a peck and lightly scratching at a nipple before continuing down the side. He could easily see his hands gripping Anders’ hips as the mage danced, feeling the mage move against him. He could see his hands drifting once more, drifting over Anders’ thighs and brushing against his hardness.

Fenris groaned, the tightness building in his pants becoming too much. He was reaching into his trousers and pulling himself out before he stopped himself, paralyzed by his thoughts.

Was this too much? What if someone came upon them? What if Anders was disgusted by his crassness? Anders had offered to dance, not to become wanking material. What if-

“Don’t stop, Fenris,” Anders called, his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his smalls. “Please,” he added, a begging note there that Fenris had not noticed before.

He was not a good man, or a strong one, Fenris thought to himself. He gave in.

He kept his strokes short and fast, never taking his eyes off of the dancing man. Fenris smirked and then laughed when the mage did a quick shimmy and a hop that left him naked. He continued dancing, coming closer and closer to the seated elf. Fenris tilted his head up as he got closer, his strokes quickening as he caught more detail on the rolling muscle, the swelling cock and the wonderful, wonderful precise movements of Anders’ hips.

“Fenris.”

He gazed up higher, locking his gaze with Anders’ warm brown ones. The warrior couldn’t look away; he was transfixed on those eyes, those eyes that had stared him down countless times, those eyes that now were looking on him with something soft and warm, something that made his chest clench-

He came with a clenched hiss, spilling over his hand. Only then did he break away from Anders’ gaze.

Fenris took a few deep, steadying breaths before looking back at the mage. He nearly jumped to find Anders kneeling before him, lust and adoration in his gaze.

“So beautiful,” Anders whispered. He reached out, pausing before he could actually touch the elf’s heaving belly. “May I touch you?”

Swallowing, a little unsure, Fenris nodded.

He shivered when the mage scooted closer, the other man’s body heat a welcome thing in the suddenly cooler forest. Fenris watched as the mage leaned down, one hand pushing up his shirt while the other tugged his trousers lower. He started kissing his belly and going lower with his stubble-rough kisses.

“Too much,” Fenris begged when the mage gently, for the first time, licked his spent cock. So wonderful, so wet, but way too much too soon. “Too-”

“Alright,” Anders murmured soothingly, gently nipping at the elf’s thigh. “Alright. Give me your hand.”

When Fenris did, the elf started cursing softly when the other man turned his palm up and started lapping up the elf’s seed, tongue darting and dexterous. Fenris felt his stomach clench and his cock twitch in interest- it was too soon to do anything more, but his body certainly liked what he saw.

When Anders had finished cleaning his hand, he looked up at Fenris, eyes half hooded with satisfaction. “You taste wonderful.”

Well, the rest of the blood in his body just went right to his face, Fenris thought dryly as he felt himself flush. “Thank you?”

Anders laughed, pushing himself up and starting to look for his clothing.

Fenris stared at the mage’s still hard cock. “You didn’t-”

“No, I didn’t,” Anders agreed, already starting to dress. 

Fenris watched him, frowning slightly. Had it been that disturbing to watch him wank off that Anders couldn’t finish now?

The mage seemed to have picked up on Fenris’ uncertainty, because he offered the elf a smile. “I really enjoyed this,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think I’d be able to control myself if I actually started touching myself in front of you when you look like…like what you do.”

“And what do I look like?” Fenris asked slowly.

Anders licked his lips before answering. “Ravishing. Delectable.”

Fenris snorted, pulling himself together and buttoning his trousers. “You are delusional, mage.”

“And you’re blind and forgetful if you didn’t see how me or the other blokes back at camp were looking at you,” Anders replied bluntly. He offered the elf a hand, fully clothed now. “C’mon. There’s an aravel with our names on it.”

Fenris smiled, putting his hand in Anders and letting himself be led back to camp, feeling freer than he had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a nice visual of how Anders was dancing, watch this video. Gotta love dancing men.
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c29HV9aFCaM


	18. Chapter 18

The trio returned to Denerim the next morning under the threatening grey of rain clouds, laden down with a few trinkets from the ruins, a new staff for Anders, and a new pair of boots for Fenris. The warrior clomped loudly behind the mage, unused to his newest attire. Isabela had laughed herself silly when he had stumbled away from camp- sadly, the pirate was staying behind with the Dalish and Merrill. Another friendly face to help cheer the mage up, and to guard his back at night.

Then again, he had seen her and Zevran distracting Fenris the night before, so maybe keeping the assassin and the pirate separated was a better idea.

Anders turned, watching Fenris stumble and shuffle with a knowing smile. He looked like a cat that had stepped in something nasty and didn’t want to walk.

“Alright there Fenris?” he asked when the elf had caught up to him.

Fenris offered the mage a sour look. “These are heavy, cumbersome, and I can’t feel the ground beneath me. How do you stand these all the time?”

“They protect my delicate mage toes from the elements and they’re very stylish,” Anders quipped. “How have you been able to run around bare-foot this whole time is beyond my comprehension.”

“I was not allowed shoes.”

Anders turned and gave Fenris a disbelieving look. “You mean to tell me that Danarius outfitted you with weapons and armor, but wouldn’t also equip you with shoes? Shoes, basic protection for your little elf feet?”

The elf shrugged, catching and saving himself from a stumble. “After the ritual, I had no memory of before and my feet were already tough. I suspect that I have never worn shoes before now.”

“But what about if you stepped on something sharp?” the mage asked, unable to wrap his head around the logistics. “What if you went through glass? Or stubbed your toe?”

Fenris snorted at the last query, but answered levelly. “If there was glass, I was expected to still do my duty. What was I to a great magister of Teventer? I was an expensive tool; but like any tool, I could be replaced.” He sighed, shoulders slumping a little. “And I was.”

Anders didn’t have anything to say to that; what could you say to that? Somehow the subject had gone from shoes to Fenris’ unfortunate history of being cast aside. And knowing Fenris, being the brooding master he was, he was probably now thinking deep thoughts about why he was cast aside not only by his former master, but also by his sister and by last his lover. 

What, was Anders supposed to ignore this? He wasn’t sure he could. But if he tried to give Fenris of all people a pep talk, it might come out mangled and oh so horribly awkward and somehow come back to either the mage plight or sex.

Sex?

Inspired, Anders tried to change the subject.

“So…” he trailed off, waggling his eyebrows when the elf glanced over at him.

Fenris cocked his own eyebrow. “What?”

“Last night,” the mage said lightly. “Did you-”

“Yes,” Fenris interjected swiftly, eyes brightening almost at once. Anders mentally congratulated himself. “That was…I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You’re welcome,” Anders said, preening as he did so. “I don’t just dance like that for anyone you know, you lucky sod.”

“Would you dance for me?” Zevran called to them, motioning for them to keep up. He offered the healer a playful smile. “I would pay you for your time, of course.”

Fenris made a noise similar to a cat being dunked in water, and Anders did some quick thinking.

“Sorry Zev,” he said cheerfully. “I just don’t think I’d be able to fit you in. Between the jobs and looking after my favorite patient, I just don’t have the time.”

The assassin laughed, pulling ahead once more, this time offering Anders a knowing look over his shoulder; they wouldn’t be bothered for a while now.

“Did you really like it last night?” Anders whispered, eyes fixed determinedly on Fenris’ covered feet.

“I thought my reactions were rather telling,” the elf said dryly.

“No regrets?” the mage countered, a little sharply. “No…worries?”

Fenris turned to fully look at him, mouth set in a frown. “Anders, I thoroughly enjoyed last night. I want to do something like that again soon. Very soon,” he amended, licking his lips thoughtfully. “Why are you asking me these things. Are you having second thoughts now?”

“Maker, no!” Anders nearly tripped over his own feet in shock, weaving a little as he righted himself.

“I would understand if you did,” Fenris continued on, oblivious to the mage’s flailing. “I am, for a better lack of term, damaged goods. I-”

“Sod it,” Anders snapped.

“…I beg your pardon?”

“I said sod it,” Anders repeated, anger flaring up in his chest. Hadn’t he shown Fenris that he really did care? That he didn’t care if Fenris was an ex-slave, if he had scars, or if he liked to hog the blankets on chilly nights? Damn the elf for being so thick-skulled!

“I was asking if you were fine with last night because I want to make sure I won’t scare you away. And I’m…I’m nervous. Normally by this point in time, I’ve already shagged the person and moved on. I don’t want that with you, but I’ve never done these long term commitment things, and I’m terrified I’ll screw something up. I’m not having second thoughts. I want you. I want every part of you laid out bare before me. I want you at my mercy, just as surely as I am at yours. Just…” he trailed off, looking helplessly at the elf. “Please. Let me know if I do anything to upset you.”

The warrior stared at him for a moment before a small, timid smile graced his features. “You truly believe that. A man such as you, wanting one such as me.” He shook his head, looking amused now. “You are an odd one.”

“Says the elf who’s never worn shoes,” the mage grumbled. “C’mon, let’s catch up before Zev leaves us completely behind.”

~ ~ ~ ~

By the time they had reached their room, all three men were soaked to the bone, the clouds opening up on them a mile outside the city, and pounding them until they had found shelter, ducking under the eaves of The Pearl.

He hid it well, but Fenris couldn’t fully hide his discomfort from Anders, especially when the healer was already keeping a sharp eye on the elf. The warrior had been walking stiffly for some time now; his feet were more than likely hurting by this point and with the cold and wet on top of everything, Anders really couldn’t blame Fenris when he snarled and snapped at the assassin, or anyone who passed by him too close.

Zevran, for whatever reason, used this as an excuse to head back out into the weather. With a quick bow and a wink, he vanished back out into the downpour, leaving Anders behind with a very wet, very grumpy elf.

“C’mon, upstairs,” he coaxed, resisting the urge to take the elf’s hand in his. 

With a huff of irritation, Fenris listened, stomping clumsily up the stairs and to their room.

It took a little more cajoling, and a few firm tugs on Fenris’ armor, but he eventually had the elf naked and soaking in a hot bath while Anders made do with a simple sponge bath, quickly cleaning himself up and gathering together a few items while the elf enjoyed his bath.

When Fenris finally emerged from the bathroom, towel clutched around his wet form, the mage was ready and waiting. He knelt in front of the chair, a few towels, a jar of oil, and a bucket of hot, salted water in front of him.

“Sit,” Anders said, motioning the warrior to the chair. “This will help.”

Head cocked and eyes curious, Fenris did as requested; he sat in the chair, gingerly adjusting the towel before looking down at the mage once more.

“In,” Anders motioned at the bucket. “This will help your feet feel better.”

Fenris carefully slid his feet into the bucket, a soft sigh coming from his mouth as his feet sunk into the depths. “This…is nice. Thank you, Anders.”

“Just doing my duty as healer,” Anders said, though he offered the elf a smile. He let Fenris soak his feet for several minutes, listening to the patter of rain on the roof and the glass of the window. Anders drew the elf’s feet out, carefully drying them with a towel.

“How do you feel? How are your feet?”

“Better,” Fenris admitted. “My feet are still a bit sore though.”

Anders nodded, uncorking the bottle of oil and doling some out. He heard Fenris draw in a deep, appreciative breath when the oil hit his foot; it warmed him as Anders took the foot and started to slowly massage the bottom.

Fenris let out a hiss as Ander’s thumb brushed across a blister, stilling at once when healing magic gently touched the wound. Anders healed another blister, and then another on the opposite foot.

Once he had healed the last one, Fenris tried to pull away from the mage. “Thank you,” Fenris said, tugging. “I-”

“I’m not done,” Anders said quietly, looking up at the elf with what was probably a silly, pleading expression. He just…wanted to make the elf feel good, even if it wasn’t with something sexual. Anders, contrary to popular belief, did like to make others feel appreciated. He was an affectionate man, even with past lovers who had shared nothing with him except one passionate night. He liked showing how he felt to another, and he counted himself lucky at all that his object of affection/lust was actually returning his feelings years after the start of it. 

But that didn’t stop the need to try to make the elf happy, to show affection for the man he had come to care for. And with Fenris being a little skittish with public displays, Anders only had time for this behind closed doors.

Fenris frowned down at him before giving a minute shrug. “If that is what you want.” That said, he leaned back in his chair, foot held out gracefully towards the mage.

He would have been lying if he said he hadn’t thought, at least on a few scattered occasions, what it would be like to spend a quiet evening with the elf, without the talk of mages or templars or slavers coming up, and just…being. He had also daydreamed a handful of times what it would be like to offer Fenris something simple, but something that was also pleasant for the elf. Yet those idle fantasies had never really had the soil to ground themselves, to take root, and to flourish.

Anders gently grasped it, catching the elf’s eye as he leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on the insole. The elf merely raised an eyebrow and then motioned for the mage to continue.

Anders did so, fingers digging gently into the instep, the sole, and even between the elf’s long graceful toes. Fenris, thankfully, was quiet throughout the whole thing, merely sitting there and letting Anders continue his ministrations.

It was…peaceful, what with the comfortable silence between them and the sound of the rain coming down. Occasionally Anders would pause in the massage to offer a soft kiss to the foot he was working on, or to boldly kiss the elf’s ankle or calf. He didn’t dare go higher- he had no other intentions than to make Fenris feel better, and to make him feel…well, appreciated and cared for.

Anders finished up with a light kiss on the very tops of Fenris’ toes, drawing a soft sigh of contentment from the elf.

“I…thank you. That was unexpected, but not unappreciated,” Fenris rumbled, his voice echoed by a soft roll of thunder outside.

The mage offered a grin. “Mission accomplished then. C’mon, let’s get dressed before Zev comes back.”

“Would you be averse to going downstairs and sharing a bowl of stew?”

Anders blinked, turning to stare at the elf who was resolutely staring out the rain streaked window. While they had eaten together many times before, Fenris had never really…asked. Dinner was eaten when one was hungry, and sometimes his and Fenris’ schedule just didn’t match up. To ask, formally almost, for his company…

Anders beamed.

“I’d be honored to.”

The returning smile from the warrior was enough to put a spring in the mage’s step as they headed downstairs.

~ ~ ~ ~

Anders was awakened suddenly by an odd sound: Zevran cursing.

Immediately, this told the mage several things at once. One, Zevran was, obviously, upset about something. Two, his being upset meant that Anders should probably be cowering in a corner somewhere under a blanket. Three, Zevran never really cursed unless it was bad. Like, giant statues coming to life and then trying to kill them, bad. 

He sat up in bed, eyes quickly growing accustomed to the dimness of the room.

Two pairs of glowing eyes glanced back at him, one green and the other gold.

“We must leave,” Zevran hissed, golden eyes sharp and knowing. “I received a tipoff. Someone will be coming after you tonight, and we must be gone from this city before then. I have horses waiting outside. Grab whatever is important and easy to carry, and let us go.”

With all three of his criteria checked off, Anders leapt into action, quickly grabbing his things and getting dressed. Fenris was already alert and armored; if they hadn’t fallen into bed hours earlier, Anders would have thought that the warrior had never undressed.

Within the hour, all three men were out of Denerim, on horses, and riding towards Amaranthine.

“If we are lucky, we will run into the Wardens on the way there,” Zevran had explained earlier. “I doubt my Warden will travel alone; she will have backup. I will feel much safer once we are back under her wing, my friends.”

At this point in time, if Zevran was worried and not fighting the problem in his roguish way, then Anders would also be quite happy to be back under the Commander’s wings- even if it meant a sound thrashing later for abandoning his post when he was still in the Wardens.

He looked over at Fenris, his eyes glancing over the elf’s scars. Yes, he thought. He could learn to live with whatever marks she left him with.

Anders leaned forward in his saddle more, uncomfortable with the constant jarring. He was not an experienced rider; Fenris had had to give him a boost, and had wrapped the reins around his hands several times for a little extra security.

Fenris, being the mysterious brooding dark elf he was, seemed quite at home on top of his beast, even offering the animal occasional words of soft encouragement. Zevran was much the same, though he wasn’t as charitable as Fenris; he snarled as much as cooed to his horse, urging all three of them to hurry, to go faster.

They passed from the muddy road and into the trees, Zevran’s cursing becoming more and more profane as they went on. 

It wasn’t until Anders was hit with a blast of magic-dampening energy that he truly realized how very well fucked they were.

“Trap,” he gasped, trying to speak louder, but the two elves remained deaf, only hearing the swearing from the assassin and the pounding of hooves from the horses. Anders collapsed against his horse’s neck, wrapping his arms around it, desperately fighting to stay in the saddle and not slide free like his body wanted him to.

The assassin’s cursing was abruptly silenced only to be covered by Fenris letting loose a foul stream of language. Anders heard the horses neighing and stamping on the ground, and quite suddenly, his own beast came to a stop. He slowly, lethargically, lifted his head, taking in the scene.

Templars, in full regalia, surrounded their group, too many to count, and certainly too many for them to try to jump with the horses. Tilting his head, Anders noted that the Templars at the front had erected barricades and held their shields at the ready. 

Fenris edged his horse closer to Anders’, voice growling out, “I’m assuming the reason you haven’t attacked them yet-”

“They Silenced me a while back,” Anders said apologetically. “Sorry. I tried to tell you-”

He cut himself off when Zevran up ahead started yelling at who appeared to be the leader.

“I do not care who you are,” the assassin snarled, eyes gleaming in rage. “I am on Warden business with these two, and I will not be stopped by the likes of you!”

“Can’t be Warden business,” a Templar muttered to another beside him. “That one there ran away from ‘em.”

“In all fairness, you don’t run away from being a Warden,” Anders said weakly.

“Anders, formerly of the Wardens, and formerly of the Fereldan Circle,” the leader said, easily stepping around Zevran’s horse and coming to stand beside the mage. “You are a long time wanted Apostate who escaped into the Wardens before you could be tried for the deaths of your Templar guardians. You then blew up a house of worship and murdered the Grand Cleric along with countless innocent believers who were inside at the time. I am here to bring you to justice.”

“And the irony never ceases,” Anders muttered.

“If you resist, I have been ordered to bring you in using force.” The helmeted man nodded back towards the wall of steel plates. “And believe me when I say I certainly have the force necessary to take down a Silenced mage and his comrades.”

“You will not have him.”

Anders started, glancing aside at Fenris. The elf looked furious; his frown was set, one hand was holding the reins and the other was on the hilt of his sword. Anders was sure that if it were still possible, Fenris would also be glowing.

The Templar looked at Fenris, eyes calculating beneath the helmet. “You do not seem like a thrall,” he commented after a moment. “However, without testing we cannot be sure. Take them.”

With a loud bang and a flash of pain in his head, Anders found himself off his horse and on the ground, with about ten Templars bearing down on him. Fuzzily, he could make out Fenris dashing in front of him, sword swinging and waving as the elf moved from target to target, cutting and tearing limbs and soaking the ground with blood. Anders felt a small bit of pride; that was his elf, doing what he did. Go Fenris.

Zevran was nowhere to be seen, nor the leader and a fair few of the other Templars. Anders felt a spark of hope; perhaps Zevran had escaped, leading the Templars on a merry goosechase-

He jerked, startled when he heard a pained, inhuman cry. 

_Fenris!_

The number of Templars had caught up with the elf while Anders had been distracted, and Anders watched, horrified, as the elf collapsed when one of the other men bashed the back of his head with his shield.

Anders watched Fenris, beautiful, wonderful, recalcitrant Fenris, fall. When he hit the ground, Anders lost track of any conscious thought. All he knew was that in a heartbeat, he was there beside the elf, standing over him, snarling and yelling at any who tried to come closer. He was reaching for his magic, he knew it was there, knew it within his soul. This one time, it wouldn’t fail him. He would protect Fenris, he would-

Anders let out a scream as one of the Templars ran a sword through his leg, deftly pulling it free and letting the mage collapse on top of the elf. The clank of metal was getting louder-

Desperate, Anders reached once again for his magic. Nothing; just cold emptiness, nothing to catch and spark into anything remotely helpful.

Fenris moaned beneath him. Anders moved, covering more of the elf with his form. He wouldn’t let them touch Fenris, wounded or not. Abruptly, they all stopped, and Anders felt his stomach drop.

“He’s down, he won’t be going nowhere with that leg,” one of them called. “Let’s get cleaned up and head out.”

“Boss isn’t back yet,” another pointed out.

Another one, wearing a green sash, considered Anders and the unconscious elf for a moment. “We could have some fun,” he said slowly. “Kill time until the boss-”

 _No,_ Anders thought desperately. _No no no! Maker, please, please don’t let them-_

“Why?” Another snorted, wearing a blue sash. “He ain’t your type.”

“No,” Green sash agreed. “But that elf is. A little worn around the edges, but still nice to look at. Bet he’s a good little cock sucker.”

_NO!_

This couldn’t, shouldn’t be happening, Anders thought, panicking. He couldn’t let them touch Fenris; Fenris had been abused enough, he didn’t need to be sexually used on top of everything else. He didn’t want Fenris to be angry anymore; he wanted the warrior to smile and laugh more, he wanted to make him happy. And these beasts wanted to paw him over like he was a toy instead of a living, breathing man with issues and problems.

Anders slowly tilted his head to look up at the two Templars who had spoken. He glanced at his leg, eyeing the steady flow of red. He licked his lips, calculating the risk and the worth.

Dealing for the rest of his miserable life with demons, having to adjust his magic, having his healing magic greatly weakened, and forever in danger of being executed on sight due to being a malificar- or he could protect Fenris.

_Why am I thinking about this?!_

It was definitely worth it, he thought darkly as he tentatively reached out mentally to the blood, to his life essence.

Surprisingly, it answered almost immediately, right away at his beck and call. The power, his power, had always been there, just waiting for him to tap into it. 

He silently gathered the energy inside him, preparing the spell. He then waited, eyeing the two Templars warily. He would wait until they came closer; he wasn’t sure how much control he would have over this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least take the two who were openly discussing such horrific things. 

They started walking towards him and Fenris, and Anders readied himself for the plunge.

“Take another step towards the prisoners and I’ll see you charged and hanged.”

The leader was back and he sounded genuinely pissed. Relieved, Anders let go of the heady magic; it flowed back to where it belonged, still whispering to him.

“What about the other elf?” another Templar asked.

The leader sighed, seeming truly weary. “He won’t trouble us any longer.”

Anders felt whatever hope that had been there, festering in his heart, snuff out like a weak light. 

“Tie them both up and load them up. He will want to see them.”

Anders’ last thought before he lost consciousness was who ‘he’ was.


	19. Chapter 19

Fenris did not awaken slowly or quietly. 

Memories were rushing through him like a hurricane, bits and pieces of his past and present (and future?) whirling and battering around in his mind, confusing him.

There was his master, cooing and coddling him like a spoiled favorite pet. “My little wolf.” He smells of blood and lyrium and Fenris cannot flinch when his master starts stroking his ears. 

Hawke shimmered into view, offering him a wicked smile and drawing him into her, drinking in her sweet kisses like a delicious, well-aged wine. He smiles against her lips, pulling her tighter against him-

There was a knife above him, darting and quick. There is blood, there is pain, and the knife keeps flashing and flashing-

With a roar, he leapt to his feet, hands clenching into fists and striking out in random directions to ward off would be enemies, to stop the complete agony that has come to define his life.

There is a shout of surprise from nearby and he lurches towards it blindly, intent on harming whatever is there before-

A much larger body is suddenly on top of him, pinning him and his flailing limbs down to the stone floor. Fenris froze, waiting for pain.

“Easy, ser,” a voice commanded sharply. “Don’t make me have to tie you down.”

Slowly, the warrior nodded, his vision clearing and his mind catching up with the waking world.

“Good,” the voice said, a voice Fenris had heard before. “Now, I’m going to let you up slowly. No sudden movements. You had a nasty knock to the back of your head. Promise to be good?”

Gingerly, Fenris nodded again and the armored human let him up. 

Fenris glanced around, taking in his new surroundings.

“Where am I?”

“Fort Drakon,” the Templar said, standing and wiping his hands off. “We took you and the fugitive here for safe keeping until Anders’ trial can commence.”

Fenris glanced up at the Templar, frowning at the stern human. “You were the leader.”

“Knight Captain Byron, at your service,” the man said with a curt nod.

Fenris considered the human before him: tall, human, dark hair, stern blue eyes. Wearing the Templar uniform, complete with shield and sword. He stood there in a relaxed yet ready stance. Wondering just how much information he would be able to get out of his captor, Fenris decided to throw caution to the wind.

“What happened to the assassin? Where is Anders?”

Byron frowned, shaking his head. “The other elf, I’m sorry to say, is dead by my hand. He refused to give up and come quietly and attacked me.”

Fenris fought back a wince. “The mage?”

“The fugitive Anders is in an isolated cell down the hall.”

The elf couldn’t help the wince that shuddered through his frame at that answer. “Please,” he said gruffly, looking at the floor. “Is he…?”

“He should have had someone look at his leg already,” Byron said, sounding surprisingly gentle. “He has mean accommodations, but he does have them.”

“Light,” Fenris asked, glancing back up at the human. “Does he have light or is he in darkness?”

Byron shrugged. “He has light, of course. Why would we keep him in the dark? We’re holding him for trial, not torturing him!”

“That remains to be seen.”

The Templar glared at him. “Whatever crimes he may or may not have committed, he deserves to be treated like any other man, with proper healing, food, and shelter. I would not stand for anything less, I assure you.”

“Your assurances mean little to me,” Fenris replied, staggering to his feet. The room swayed for a moment before a firm shake of his head righted things. He looked up at the other man, eyes defiant even though the human towered over him. “Am I a prisoner here as well?”

Byron paused for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “No, you are not. However, given your previous state and the request from the accuser, I thought it was best to…keep an eye on you.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?”

The Templar Captain actually looked vaguely uncomfortable now. “When you were knocked out and Anders had been put out of commission, some of my men…discussed how useful your mouth would be. Those men have been dismissed and sent back to Denerim, but I wanted to make sure personally that no one got any ideas about the unconscious elf down in the dungeons.”

The elf snorted, unimpressed. “So you thought that instead of sharing, you’d keep the unconscious, helpless elf to yourself then.”

Byron’s face flushed red, whether in anger or embarrassment Fenris wasn’t sure. “How-how dare you!” he hissed, taking a step forward before stopping himself. “A good, honest Templar has vows, and even if I didn’t take mine seriously, I wouldn’t stoop so low as to attack an unconscious man under my care!”

“But you would not hesitate to attack a conscious one?” Fenris replied, taking a step back, eyes already dancing around the room looking for anything to use as a weapon.

“Maker’s Breath, no!” Byron said, holding his hands up, placating. “I swear on Andraste’s ashes I won’t touch you. Please, ser, at least give me your name so I can report back to the Prince.”

“Prince?” Fenris asked, head cocked now from curiosity.

Byron nodded. “Yes. The Prince of Starkhaven is the accuser. He wishes to see you before you leave, at your convenience.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Anders awoke to pain and movement, his leg and head throbbing as he was dragged across the ground…no, the floor, he realized distantly. He was inside…somewhere? Yes, somewhere, he decided as one of the guards carrying him sneezed loudly. But where? And when, he added as his head throbbed again.

Anders shook his head, trying to clear it. He caught himself as his escorts tossed him forward, head held low as he tried to collect his thoughts. 

“Anders.”

Slowly, Anders looked up, using his arms and stomach instead of his legs to lift up high enough to see who had spoken.

He was in a small sitting room with a roaring fire in the fireplace, a table that held what looked like bread and butter…and a chair, which was currently occupied by a man with a rather fierce, angry looking countenance, his red hair and tangled beard adding to the appearance of one pissed off, raving mad Starkhavener.

Anders swallowed. “Sebastian.”

“I would be lying if I said it was a pleasure to see you again, Anders,” the prince said evenly, the fire light making the man’s blue eyes seem flinty and hard. “But I take peace in knowing that soon, the Maker will pass judgment on you, and I will be there to see it acted out on this earth, just like I promised you I would.”

Anders did not reply, merely blinking up at the prince in slight confusion.

Sebastian seemed to have noticed. “What, Anders?”

“I don’t remember you promising that.”

That simple statement was enough to send Sebastian to his feet, jaw clenched and face furious. “I was _there_ when the Chantry blew, Anders! I swore to you, as you stood there gleefully rejoicing in the chaos and death you had created, that I would go back to Starkhaven and reclaim my throne, that I would build up an army, and that I would find you and teach you the true meaning of justice!”

Anders frowned up at the man, his head still feeling off and fuzzy. He remembered, very dimly, of Sebastian being there when the Chantry had unexpectedly blown, but he had been too distracted by the thought of Hawke being there to have really paid any attention to the waffling prince.

Apparently, Anders needed to pay more attention to such things, if this was the result of his inattention.

“You’ve been on the run since then,” the prince hissed, starting to walk around the prone mage. “For the longest time, I had no idea where you were. Then, I caught wind that you had returned to Kirkwall. From there, I tracked you here. And now, here you are, right where you belong- at my feet, begging for mercy.”

“I will not,” Anders said softly, wearily.

“What was that?”

“I will not,” Anders repeated, louder this time. “Beg for mercy from _you_. If I am to do such a thing, it’ll be with someone who wasn’t such a bloody hypocrite!”

That earned him a swift, hard smack to his face. Anders turned his head to the side, the flare of pain on his cheek nothing compared to the fire that had been ignited in his belly. He slowly turned back to face the archer, his brown eyes clearing and hardening with determination.

“You still don’t see it, do you?” he spat. “First you believe in the imprisonment of mages-”

“It is for their safety and ours,” Sebastian retorted.

“-which leads to easily covering up the abuse and torture some of us go through,” Anders continued, unperturbed at Sebastian’s interruption. 

“You wanted to turn me and Merrill into the Templars, when you know damn well that she wouldn’t have lasted a week in there! Don’t shake your head,” he snarled. “I was there when you discussed it with Fenris. That was the only time I felt like I really wanted to hug the angry blighter, when he told you he would not turn any of us in, and that you would have to take it up with Hawke.

“Then, you preach the love and safety of the Maker, while now you stand before me, claiming to be his judge and agent of justice on earth. Oh, and let’s not forget that lovely conversation you had with Aveline, about how good people know when it is necessary to sacrifice themselves for a leader’s cause? This, coming from the same man who claimed to want to help and heal the poor and afflicted of Kirkwall!”

“Enough,” Sebastian bellowed, but Anders didn’t listen.

“Was that what you were doing, _prince_?” he spat the title like he would if he had swallowed something foul. “Fattening up the good people of that foreign city, so they would rise up to meet you when you called on them? Lambs for the slaughter, the lot of them!”

The prince hit him again, but instead of cowering, Anders glared up at the furious man, teeth bared like an animal. Smugly, he turned his face, offering the other cheek.

“I’m not the abomination here,” he said, feeling a tad ironic saying that. “You are, you who would doom cities of people just for one man.”

“I am doing the Maker’s will,” Sebastian said, chest heaving as he reigned in his temper, his eyes glaring coldly at the mage. “He wants mages protected and away from the normal populace, He wants there to be justice in this world, and He wants you to pay for what you did.”

“He does, does He?” Anders mocked. “Or is this just something you want?”

“You killed innocent people, Anders,” Sebastian returned. “You killed the Grand Cleric, an agent of the Maker. And you killed Hawke.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere,” Anders cackled, firmly pushing away his dizziness. No way was he going to miss this. 

“You wanted her.”

Sebastian actually stiffened, eyes widening in surprise. “I,” he stammered. “I did not-”

“You _did_ ,” Anders said quietly, offering the prince a knowing look. “We _all_ did.”

“She chose Fenris,” Sebastian said stiffly. “Besides, I had my vows-”

“It’s not a sin if you talk or think about it,” Anders pointed out shrewdly. “You wanted her. I saw you looking more often than not, _your majesty_. I also saw the looks you gave Fenris when you thought he wasn’t looking. Not that I can’t blame you, he’s a lovely man-”

Anders actually saw stars this time when the blow landed. He shook his head, hoping the ringing in his ears would stop soon.

“You know _nothing_ ,” the prince spat. “Fenris was my friend and I admired him as a fellow comrade. You will not drag him down into such filth!”

“Too late,” Anders laughed.

“Speak, now!”

“What?” the mage asked, his arms giving out and his face hitting the cool floor. “Can’t stand the thought that you not only didn’t get Hawke, but that Fenris is now with a mage?”

“You _lie_ ,” Sebastian whispered, his eyes impassive. “The only way he would follow you would be with blood magic. You blew up a house of worship and killed countless people. Blood magic is not beyond you.”

“Indeed it isn’t,” Anders breathed, closing his eyes as his head started to pound again. “I nearly resorted to it when some of your men started talking about how useful Fenris’ mouth might be.”

“They wouldn’t,” Sebastian replied immediately. “They are all good, upstanding men, sworn to the service of the Maker.”

“They did, and if it wasn’t for your leader, I would have made a deal with any demon to keep that elf safe.”

“Once we figure out how to lift whatever spell you-”

He broke off when the mage started to laugh darkly.

“Really, Sebastian? You know so little of both me and Fenris, even though you ran around with us for years under Hawke’s command. Fenris is with me voluntarily.”

“Liar,” said the prince coolly. “Fenris would no sooner follow you than I would.”

“Perhaps,” the mage said. “But at least with Fenris, I can reason with him. Can’t do that with you.”

“It seems that this is a waste of time,” the prince snapped, his footsteps walking away from the fallen mage. “Take him back!”

As he was dragged back to his cell, Anders wondered where Fenris was, and how he was faring.

~ ~ ~ ~

Fenris was Not Happy.

He had been cooped up in this one room for several days now, with regular meals and the occasional visit from Ser Byron. He asked, repeatedly, to see Anders, but each time he was quietly refused by the Knight Captain.

“I do not have permission to take you to see him,” Byron said one morning when Fenris had again demanded to see the mage. “In all likelihood, they do not want you near him in case he tries to enthrall you.”

“He would do no such thing,” Fenris replied coldly. “I am with him of my own free will. He saved my life and gave me purpose. It would be wrong of me to leave him now.”

Byron paused, his gauntleted hand tapping thoughtfully on his scabbard. “He saved your life?”

“Yes. The mage is a damn good healer.”

“Healer? The prince was certain he had turned to blood magic,” Byron said, almost to himself. “If he had, then he wouldn’t have access to his healing magic.”

“I am living proof that his art is still a nurturing, gentle one,” Fenris said, holding his arms out to indicate his form. “Now, may I go to him? I wish to see if he is alright.”

He could see the conflict on Ser Byron’s face, so decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Please,” he begged softly, stepping forward towards the larger man. “I’ll do anything, but please-”

“Don’t offer such things,” Byron growled, staring down at the elf with an unrecognizable expression. “Just…I’ll help you. Give me some time, and I’ll see what I can do.”

This was several hours ago, and all Fenris could do was wait, and pace his room. There was a bed, a desk, a chair, and a bookcase full of scrolls and books, but the elf couldn’t force himself to be interested- he was too agitated and too worried for Anders.

Finally, _finally_ , Byron came back with an unknown mage in tow. Fenris glared at the mage before ignoring him and turning his attention to Byron.

“He is coming along to make sure that if something does happen, he can counteract it,” Byron said by way of explanation before leading Fenris out of the room.

~ ~ ~ ~

When Fenris walked into Anders’ cell, he wasn’t sure what he had expected. He hoped to find the mage unharmed, possibly scribbling mage freedom nonsense on a free piece of parchment or trying to charm the fort’s felines. He feared to walk in on a torture session, with Anders at the mercy of the Templars.

Instead, he walked in to something much worse.

There was light in the cell, and there was a bed and a plate of food- Byron had not lied about that. But when he saw his healer curled up in a ball on the floor, his face and body bloodied and bruised, and all alone, Fenris couldn’t stop the choked sound that escaped him as he ran to his friend, dropping next to the mage and gingerly trying to wake him.

“Anders,” he begged. “Please, wake up. Let me see you.”

The mage stirred, turning his face towards the elf’s voice. Fenris stilled as his eyes opened, and warm honey stared up at him.

“Hallo,” Anders said softly, slowly reaching up and caressing the warrior’s cheek. “Fenris.”

The elf leaned into the touch, taking comfort in the fact that his healer seemed to remember him. He turned towards Byron, a snarl on his face as he gripped Anders against him.

“You said he was being taken care of!” he roared. “You lying son of a-”

“He should have been!” Byron roared back. He calmed himself, growling. “Shit. This should not have…Maker, Terri, go help him.”

The mage scurried forward, only to scurry back a few steps when Fenris growled warningly at him.

“Fenris,” Byron said, sounding tired. “Terri will help him. Terri is a healer too.”

The elf let the other mage come closer, keeping a sharp eye on him as he worked his magic. Several moments later, and he was done and Anders was more aware of his surroundings.

“Fenris,” Anders said quietly while Terri conferred with Byron. “Sebastian is here.”

“I know, carum,” Fenris muttered, not catching his language slip. “He wishes to see me before I leave.”

“Oh,” Anders said, seeming to deflate in the elf’s arms. Fenris frowned down at him. 

“I’m not leaving without you,” he added dryly.

“Oh,” Anders repeated, sounding much happier this time. “I…that’s good. I’ve come to enjoy your company.”

“As I have yours,” Fenris replied with a small smile.

“What did you call me?”

Fenris blinked. “What did I call you what?”

“Earlier,” Anders said, blinking languidly up at the elf, completely at ease. “Sounded like… _carum_ ,” he said, his accent rough but translatable.

The elf flushed. “I-”

“Fenris,” Byron interrupted, coming over and crouching next to them. “I will report this to the prince. He will make sure who did this is properly chastised.”

“I doubt it,” Anders chuckled. “He’s the one who gave the go-ahead for this.”

“Do not lie, prisoner,” Byron said sternly. “Prince Sebastian would never authorize the beating of a prisoner. It’s unethical-”

“He truly believes that, doesn’t he?” Anders asked Fenris, looking surprised.

“He does.”

“Poor fool,” Anders sighed, ignoring Byron’s indignant spluttering. “Oh well, he’ll see how wrong he is soon enough I’d imagine.”

“What do you mean?” Fenris asked, clutching the mage tighter.

Anders sighed. “He said he’s going to try me in the court of the Maker, or something like that. Trial, either way. Fun stuff.”

Byron managed to drag the elf away some time later, claiming that it would do the mage more harm to be seen with the elf.

“He must be kept isolated,” Byron said as he escorted Fenris back to his room. “I will watch over him from now on personally until he is called to trial.”

Slightly mollified, Fenris fell into a fitful sleep that night, dreaming of golden fields, golden hair, and sunlight.

~ ~ ~ ~

Nearly two weeks later, he was summoned to see the prince. Fenris wasn’t sure what to expect; he remembered his friend from before he had been sold back to his master, but from what he had heard and seen with Anders, it sounded as if the former Chantry brother had become someone else entirely.

So it was with surprise and trepidation that he entered the prince’s room, stopping short when he saw Anders kneeling there, hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged. Sebastian, now sporting a long beard, stood before him. He glanced up at the elf, his mouth breaking from a cold frown into a warm smile.

“Fenris! It is good to see you again my friend!”

“Sebastian,” Fenris greeted cautiously, inclining his head slightly. “What is going on?”

“It’s all taken care of, Fenris.”

“What do you speak of?”

“It’ll be fine, my friend. I was just telling the abomination that I just came from his trial. You will be pleased to know that the decision they reached was unanimous.”

Fenris cocked his head, frowning. The healer had not been let out of his cell this whole time- Byron had been keeping Fenris up to date the last week or so with messages, and three visits to see the healer. Not once had Anders mentioned being away from his cell. 

Eyes widening in realization, he stared at the prince.

“You…you did not allow him to attend his own trial?”

It was absurd, ridiculous, and…disconcerting. Even in Teventer, the accused was expected to attend their own trial. Only slaves were not summoned to court proceedings- it was deemed unnecessary, as they had no rights to begin with anyway.

That Fenris’ friend, a former Chantry brother no less, would condone and even encourage such action was upsetting.

“Sebastian, you cannot do this!”

“It is the will of the Maker, Fenris,” Sebastian said, his smile faltering. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy to finally see the abomination on his knees, ready to be judged for his past crimes.”

“He is an abomination no longer,” Fenris said curtly. “And you denied him the right to attend his own trial.”

“It wasn’t needed,” the prince said flippantly. “And what did you mean he is no longer an abomination? He still has his head on his shoulders.”

“He rid himself of the spirit before I fell into his care,” Fenris replied, staring at the unmoving mage. “Sebastian,” he started, but the prince cut him off.

“The decision is final, Fenris. Anders is to be executed at high noon tomorrow.”

~~~

Anders wasn’t sure exactly what had happened after Sebastian had announced his impending death- he had heard a strangled noise from Fenris, then the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, and then the guards came bursting into the room under the tirade of Fenris shouting himself hoarse in his native tongue.

“Stop!” Sebastian’s voice called out, and all noises immediately ceased. “He is not himself. Take him back to his room, and get this filth out of my sight.”

Hours later, Anders lay curled up on his bed, staring blankly at the wall.

He wasn’t afraid of death, not really; being a Grey Warden was a curse, albeit a long suffering one. He was living on borrowed time to begin with. Sebastian was just making sure that Anders didn’t live to suffer the worsening of the nightmares and his inevitable descent into the Deep Roads (he _hated_ the Deep Roads) to fight Darkspawn until he was overtaken.

Anders just wished…well, he was being selfish. He didn’t want to leave Fenris; he cared deeply for the elf, possibly more than was appropriate. The other man had just started to warm up to him, had just started to accept him…and now he was going to die.

Such was his life, he mused dejectedly.

He didn’t sleep that night, and when morning came, he was ready when the guards came to him.

Ser Byron led the way this time, face somber. “I have sent word to Denerim about the outstanding circumstances surrounding your imprisonment and treatment by the prince. Someone should be coming before-”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Anders snapped. “No one is coming to take charge, to right every wrong that has been committed to me here. They would have a much smaller mess if they just let me swing.”

And with that, he pushed past the Knight Captain, and led the way to his own execution.

~ ~ ~ ~

He had to admit, he was surprised at the modest turnout to his execution. Sebastian, of course, was there, watching over everything with a strangely proud gleam in his eye, situated in front of the dead tree that held the rope that would end his life. The guards and a handful of Templars were all lined up, their helmeted faces watching his every move. Almost all of Fort Drakon had turned out to watch him hang.

Even poor Fenris.

The elf was boxed in behind Sebastian, bound in rope- Anders was only a few yards away from the both of the prince and elf. He stood there, patiently waiting as a sister of the Chantry started to recite a chant, hoping that his soul would be absolved, that he would go to the side of the Maker, blah blah blah.

When she had finished, she departed, and the hangman came forward with a large black horse, his masked face somewhat of a blessing to Anders- he couldn’t bear to think of who could stand to do this for a living.

“Do you have any last requests, messere?” the executioner asked, his horse snorting and stomping impatiently behind him.

Anders considered, his eyes landing squarely on Fenris. “Yes. May I please speak for a few minutes with that elf?”

The hangman slowly nodded. “Aye, but not too long, mind. Got a schedule to keep.”

“Of course,” Anders said pleasantly as Fenris was dragged before him, his green eyes never wavering from Anders’.

Anders offered the warrior a small smile when he halted not inches from his face.

“Hallo, Fenris,” he said softly.

“Healer,” Fenris breathed. “I’m so sorry, I’ve tried to…but they’ve-”

“I can see that,” Anders said, frowning at the bruises on the elf’s neck and arms. “I’ll make sure that my spirit haunts Sebastian for the rest of his miserable life for that.”

“Anders,” Fenris said quietly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them.”

The mage nodded sadly. “Me too, Fenris.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing over the elf’s cheek before he was yanked away. As he was shoved into the saddle, a sense of calm and clarity fell over him, despite watching Fenris start to struggle with the guards, trying to reach Anders.

He would die, and Fenris would move on. And yet, he couldn’t help but worry for the warrior. Fenris had such a horrible history when it came to companions, and Anders was about to add to the list once more.

He cracked his neck a little as the rope was slipped over his head, the hangman messing with the knot to tighten it properly. He felt the executioner step back and hop to the ground, the horse shifting nervously beneath him, and he knew his time was up.

Perhaps, if they had been given enough time, he would have been able to say this to Fenris later on, in a more private setting, and in a language they could both understand. Instead, he reverted to his almost forgotten mother tongue, hoping that at least this way, it would remain private.

“Ich liebe dich, Fenris,” he called out to the elf, just as the horse jolted out from under him.

The last thing he was before the world blurred and then blacked was Fenris’ surprised eyes and his mouth forming a shout.


	20. Chapter 20

Time slowed and condensed for Fenris as the healer was taken from him. He could barely draw breath as he watched the mage being forced up into the saddle, felt his own throat closing as the noose tightened around Anders neck, and when the mage called out to him, his heart skipped a beat.

It had sounded like…but that wasn’t…was it? No one could love someone as twisted as him, he was wishing for the stars-

_“You are MINE, little wolf.”_

_Yes._

And then the horse was taken out from under the mage, the noose tightening around his neck and his feet swinging in mid-air. The world dimmed, discolored, warped-

_“For who want a deformed, temperamental thing like you?”_

_No one._

Fenris roared, but he couldn’t hear himself screaming. The guards were holding him back, but he only had eyes for the flailing man hanging from the tree like morbid fruit. The world dimmed and grayed around him, only Anders’ thrashing, struggling body holding any true color.

_“No one, little wolf, my Fenris.”_

_Yes._

Anders was in trouble. Anders was dying.

_“I am all you have.”_

_Yes._

He turned, desperate, eyes and mouth begging to prince for mercy, to let the mage live.

_“Mercy, my wolf? You deserve no such thing!”_

Sebastian did nothing, his eyes only on the swaying body dangling from the tree.

_“Your affection is appreciated, my Fenris, but not necessary. I am all you need and I am everything to you, am I not?”_

_Yes…_

Fenris turned back to look at Anders, whose struggles were weakening even as his face started turning blue and his eyes bulged grotesquely.

_No…_

Gentle, understanding Anders, with his wonderful hands and cock sure grin-

_No…_

Anders, who tasted of tea and honey and something all his own flavor-

_NO…_

Anders, who brought him as much pleasure and more than what he had had with Hawke…was now dangling lifeless in front of him, his hands and feet twitching and his eyes rolling up into the back of his head.

_ENOUGH!!!_

With a suddenly clear and loud bellow, the elf forced his way through the guards, through the rope that bound him, his scars burning and his skin on fire but he couldn’t stop- 

_He was dying- he was being torn to pieces, mind, body and soul. He could feel himself coming apart at the seams, his body rebelling and fighting to remain solid, his burning flesh and choked cry filling the air, blood running…everywhere. He could feel his lungs, his arteries, his organs trying to give in and collapse, but the magic sustains him, keeps him from giving up his life. His throat is burning, burns, burned-_

_He wants to disappear into the table. His body would welcome that._

_He should be solid but that wouldn’t help…wouldn’t help…_

_Anders!_

-and he charged towards the mage, dodging the few guards and reaching the man who had saved him in more ways than one.

“Healer,” he said, tone begging as he positioned himself beneath the body, grabbing the man’s legs and supporting the mage’s weight. “Please…do not die.”

With his weight now supported, the rope no longer dug into the healer’s neck. It took the man’s body several tense, silent moments before he drew in a sharp, shaky breath, the air wheezing through his windpipe. It wasn’t as deep as it should be, but already his color was returning.

Fenris silently thanked Andraste and the Maker before shifting his attention to the rest of the courtyard, shifting his weight nervously, his fingers clutching the unconscious mage determinedly.

Sebastian stood now, eyes looking at the elf with a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

“Fenris,” the prince said softly. “Come away from there.”

_“Come to my side, little wolf. You don’t belong with these savages.”_

The elf glared at him, his markings flaring once more in pain. “No,” he gritted out.

“Fenris,” Sebastian repeated, much more sharply this time. “Get away from him and let the Maker handle this!”

_“Kill them, Fenris.”_

“I will not stand by and let this mage die,” Fenris said quietly, feeling lightheaded as his marks again pulsed duly. But he couldn’t fall, he told himself desperately. Not until Anders was safe.

“Fenris,” Sebastian said, voice controlled and tight. “Move.”

_“Move, my pet…yessss…”_

_**“No!”** _

Fenris, despite his courage, couldn’t help the flinch he made when Sebastian suddenly brought his bow to bear on the unarmed elf. The prince’s bow, an heirloom to the Starkhaven royal family, was trained on him; how many times had he seen the prince wield it for Hawke, downing enemies long before they could reach him or their other comrades? How often had Fenris seen that bow become nothing but a blur of color and speed as the prince dealt death as easily as one dealt cards?

Fenris saw the mad gleam in the prince’s eye, but again, refused to move away.

_“You are so loyal, my sweet, sweet Fenris. Any mage would be honored to have you for his own.”_

He would die before leaving Anders to such a fate just to save his own miserable, worthless hide.

“If you do not move out of the way, I will kill you,” Sebastian said blandly. “I had thought you would be with me on my path to the Maker’s will, but I see you have been around the abomination too long. You’ve been corrupted. I pray that by ending your misery, I will have cleansed your soul and that I will one day see you at the side of the Maker.”

_Death would be welcome, Fenris thought blankly as he cleaned himself off, the warm water washing away cum and blood between his legs. Death would be welcome, when his Master tired of him._

Fenris closed his eyes, tightening his grip around the mage’s legs. He wasn’t sure if he should wish for a quick, clean death, or a botched one, just so he could offer Anders precious more seconds.

_“Just a little while longer, little wolf…”_

He shuddered, fighting down the urge to gag on his own memories. He heard a loud clamoring of noise, metal on metal, in the crowd, but his ears focused in on the twang of a bow letting lose.

A rush of wind, a loud thud….then nothing. Cautiously, Fenris opened his eyes, staring at the spectacle in front of him.

Ser Byron stood in front of him, his back to the elf, sword and shield held loosely at his sides. He shuddered, his large frame nearly falling back before he caught himself.

“Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven,” Byron said, voice wavering. “I have here a letter from the Commander of the Grey, demanding that you hand over her Warden without fuss, or else you will…you will suffer the consequences.”

Sebastian sniffed disdainfully. “We are in the middle of executing a criminal and his accomplice-”

“You would call your friend that?” Byron whispered. “Sire, did you not tell me fond stories of your friend, the tattooed elf Fenris? After all the time you spent together, after showing him the love of the Maker, after sharing meals and battles with him, you would just as easily throw him to the side?”

_“When you outlive your usefulness, I will replace you. It is only natural, my little Fenris.”_

“He stands in the way of the Maker’s will,” Sebastian replied.

“No,” Byron said, hissing as he took a step towards the prince. “It is not the Maker’s will. It is yours. The Commander is on her way, here, now! She claims the mage for her Wardens. This elf saved him from death. You are acting out your will, not the Maker’s!”

“Stand back,” the prince warned, already readying another arrow. “Guards, remove him before he kills himself.”

_“Remove them, Fenris.”_

“Stand down,” Byron said quietly as several men moved in. “Our hands are tied. The mage is a Warden, and this is Warden business.” The men halted, looking back and forth between the prince and the Knight Captain.

“Kill him!”

_“Kill them!”_

“Stand down!”

_“Kill them!”_

“I am your prince!”

_“I am your Lord and Master!”_

“I am your Captain, men. Stand. Down.”

_“I am your GOD!”_

“Wardens, assemble!”

That last statement was a simple one, but it caused several things to happen all at once. The Knight Captain collapsed, an arrow lodged deep in his side- the arrow that had been on course with Fenris, the elf realized with dim surprise.

The guards and Templars all scattered as armored men and women in silver and blue armor swarmed into the yard, battle cries ringing out among the shouts and wails of surprise and pain.

In the middle of all of this was a small elf woman wearing mage robes, armed only with a small dagger and her sharp gaze.

Fenris looked her over warily. She was beautiful, to be sure- her large green eyes took in everything with measured looks, her long black hair was swept back in a simple tail, and her form was curvaceous under the robes. Their gazes met across the distance, and the warrior froze. 

_“Bow before your betters, Fenris.”_

He could feel why she was followed, why she was feared. He could feel the power in just that simple gaze, and it took all of his willpower not to fall back on his trained slave habits and to turn his gaze aside. Instead, he held it stubbornly, refusing to look away and show weakness.

_“Bow, Fenris. Bow-”_

Fenris firmly pushed his memories away, focus returning sharply to the present. He had had enough of his past today.

The Warden smirked at him and then turned her attention to the prince.

“Prince,” she greeted, her voice calming the loud courtyard immediately- her Wardens were well trained, the elf realized dimly, to have set up control of the courtyard so quickly. “I would have a word with you, if I may.”

“In case you didn’t notice, _Commander_ ,” Sebastian hissed. “We’re in the middle of an execution.”

The Warden cocked her head slightly, an eyebrow raised up, unimpressed. 

“He is a criminal, Commander,” Sebastian said hurriedly. “He has committed crimes against humanity and the very nature of magic and must be punished for the sake of justice and the safety of every living man, woman, and child of Thedas.”

“I don’t care.”

The prince stared. “I…I beg your pardon?”

“I,” the Warden repeated slowly. “Don’t. Care. He is one of my Wardens, and I would like him back. _Now._ ”

“He has been tried and found guilty-”

“What part of ‘I don’t care’ don’t you understand?” the Warden interrupted, sounding very irritated. “It is my right to claim back my Wardens, and it is my duty to keep them strong. I need that mage and I won’t let some royal upstart little _pup_ keep me from that.”

Sebastian staggered back as if she had physically hit him. “You dare-”

She was now before him, and Fenris let out a soft whimper as the magic she conjured reignited the pain in his markings twofold, feeling the magic knifing and stabbing him even from the distance. He gritted his teeth, locking his knees to stay upright and keeping a death grip on Anders limp form.

“Tell me, boy, do you really want to fuck with me?” the Warden hissed, her hands encased in flames. “Me, both mage and savior? While you were running around lifting up tavern wenches skirts, I was running around gathering armies and fighting the Blight. While you knelt and prayed in your Chantry, I was killing an Arch Demon. While you ran around Kirkwall with the Champion and my friend over there, I was here, building the Wardens back up and dealing with darkspawn you don’t have the imagination to comprehend.”

Sebastian, Fenris noted, seemed to be shrinking in on himself, though his gaze remained as mutinous as ever.

“Then, on top of everything else I’ve had to deal with, I get a missive from my king saying that we have a foreign dignitary in the city giving orders to _our_ Templars like he was the Divine herself.”

She leaned forward, the flames on her hands vanishing as she reached out and jabbed a finger right at Sebastian’s armored chest. “However, I would have been fine with all of that, but you fucked up. Your men almost killed _my_ best assassin and now you’re trying to kill my best healer. The only reason you’re not a grease stain right now is that I am, by order of my king, supposed to give you one more chance. Here it is: Stand down _now!_ ”

Fenris was distracted from the rest of their standoff by a familiar voice behind him.

“Ho there, Fenris.”

Fenris turned his head, eyes widening at the familiar shade of hair. “Aveline,” he murmured.

The former guardswoman wore the standard of the Wardens, and looked much the same as the last time Fenris remembered seeing her- save for a long, jagged gash on her face and an air of resignation about her. 

“I’m glad to see you alive, Fenris,” she said, her tone softening in just the smallest way. 

“As I am you,” he replied, shifting under his burden. “Will you help me get him down?”

She looked up at Anders’ face, her own twisting into a grimace. “Aye,” she replied, her tone hard.

No one tried to stop them, and when Anders was finally back in Fenris’ arms, the Commander had yelled the prince down, had disbursed his men, and had one of her mages tending Ser Byron, the only one besides Anders who appeared to have been hurt in the venture.

“Aveline,” the Warden called. “Keep an eye on our friends there. I need to discuss things further with the prince in private.”

Aveline stepped back into her role of leader as easily as one stepped into another set of clothing. It took no less than five minutes for everything and everyone to be taken to task.

Fenris refused to give up Anders to anyone else, so Aveline had him settle in next to Ser Byron, who was mostly healed now.

“I…thank you,” Fenris said after a long moment of silence. “For saving my life.”

“It…I…” Byron sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are welcome.”

“By saving my life, you saved his as well,” Fenris added, indicating the still-unconscious Anders. “I owe you a deep debt.”

“No, no you don’t,” Byron said quickly, much to Fenris’ bemusement. “I…you don’t have to repay the favor or anything. Not that the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated, it would! I just can’t accept it because I- oh, Maker’s Breath, I’m making a mess of this and I-”

Fenris considered the large human beside him, taking in the flushed cheeks, the nervous eye contact, and the repeated verbal flailing.

Smirking, and unable to help himself with the mischief, Fenris leaned forward and gave the Knight Captain a quick, chaste kiss on the lips.

That shut him up, Fenris thought with amusement as he pulled back, unable to stop his face from breaking out into a grin at the look of shock on the human’s face. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the confusion morphed into peaceful contentment.

“Oh,” was all Ser Byron said of the gesture, but Fenris was pleased nonetheless.

~ ~ ~

By the time the sun set, Aveline had ushered everyone injured into the infirmary in the fort. She didn’t argue when Fenris ignored the offer to take the mage from him, but she drew the line when he stubbornly refused to give him to another, even if it was for healing. 

“Fenris,” Aveline had said sternly. “I don’t know what’s changed between you and Anders, but you both need rest, and he still needs to see the healer. Let him go.”

Reluctantly, Fenris had loosened his grip on the unconscious man enough that Aveline easily tugged him out of his arms, carrying him to an empty bed on the other side of the room.

The elf was tempted to listen to the former guard captain; the stress of the last few weeks and the afternoon’s ordeal with his markings had left him drained to almost nothing. Yet he knew it would be pointless right now to try to rest; his markings still hurt, badly, and Anders-

Anders. He couldn’t leave Anders alone after what had happened.

He waited until Aveline had exited the room before hopping off the bed and gingerly making his way over to the mage, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and resuming his guard duty.

~ ~ ~

He awoke with a startled jerk and a surprised yelp of pain- magic! He quickly turned the pained sound into a threatening growl at the strange mage standing over him, hands glowing with magic-

Instinct and training kicked in, and Fenris soon had the intruder dangling in his grasp, fingers digging tighter into the man’s neck despite the intensifying pain in his markings. He would kill this one who dared to try to harm his healer, he would-

“Fenris! Put him down. Now!”

Aveline was standing there, sword and shield out and her eyes holding that glint that told the elf that she was quite serious.

“Fenris. He is trying to help Anders,” she continued softly. “Let him down.”

Glancing at the gasping man in his hand, Fenris took a moment to calm, to look the man over properly. He carried no staff, only a small satchel of presumably herbs and poultices, which was confirmed when the elf unceremoniously dropped him and heard the tell-tale clank of glass.

He watched the unknown mage shudder, cough, and then cautiously extended his hands out over Anders again, this time keeping a wary eye on the elf.

Fenris sat there silently, gritting his teeth as his markings pulsed in tune with the flow of the magic. Aveline sheathed her weapon, nodding at Fenris. “Once Avery is done here, no one else will bother you or him. I’ll make sure of it.”

The elf nodded curtly, not turning away from the mages even as he heard the former guardswoman march out.

“Well?” Fenris asked when the man finished. 

The mage, Avery, shrugged. “He’ll be fine. Healed a cracked rib. Other than that, his vocal cords are bruised, so he won’t be able to talk for a while yet.”

Fenris nodded. “How long?”

“Who knows?” Avery shrugged, gathering his things. “For him? Anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. It’s not permanent, so don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” Fenris snapped.

Avery actually had the nerve to chuckle at that. Fenris continued to glare the mage right out the door. His markings flared in pain, bringing him back to the moment.

He sighed, slouching in on himself a little, biting his lip against the sensation. It wasn’t as bad as the ritual had been, or the agony that had been him escaping his ropes not hours before, but it still was wearing him down-

Fenris jumped when he felt a gentle hand on the small of his back. Even that light pressure hurt, but the elf couldn’t resist leaning back against that familiar hand, head turning to gaze down at his healer.

Anders was awake, staring up at Fenris with a forlorn expression. He opened his mouth to speak- and only a soft rasp came out. Looking nonplused at the new development, Anders licked his lips, and started mouthing at the elf.

_Where are you hurt?_

Fenris shook his head, hand reaching out and tucking a strand of hair away from his healer’s face. “I am uninjured. It is my markings- they all hurt.”

Anders’ face furrowed in confusion, sitting up in the bed to get a better, more level look at the elf.

“That…is how I saved you,” Fenris said quietly, not looking away from the mage’s wide brown eyes. “I…it was…unpleasant, but I was able to phase through my bindings and hold you up until your Commander came.”

The mage’s face smoothed out, and the smile that lit up the other man’s face made something jump somewhere in the region of Fenris’ stomach. Anders leaned forward, head tilted and his hands reaching up towards the warrior’s face. 

It was with regret that he shied away from Anders’ kiss, offering an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, I can’t, it...” he trailed off.

Anders looked heartbroken, but offered up his hands, the glowing blue of his magic surprisingly…not setting off his scars. The mage opened his arms wider, eyebrow raised but waiting patiently.

Warily, Fenris nodded, and leaned into his mage, shuddering and letting out a soft gasp as he was folded against the man’s chest, the mage’s arms wrapping around him securely and the magic seamlessly flowing into him, easing the fire and smoothing out his pains, unwinding along his body, loosening muscles that had tightened painfully.

“Thank you,” he muttered, burying his face into the crook of the mage’s neck. He let out another groan, this one of pure pleasure, as the mage kept pumping the magic into him. He glanced up at the healer, exasperated at the mischievous expression on the man’s face.

“This is not the place or time,” he hissed, though his cock thoroughly disagreed, hardening against Anders’ thigh through Fenris’ leathers. “Please, later. I’m tired and you’re not ready for this either.”

He felt the mage’s chest rising and falling in silent laughter, but he felt the magic ebb, disappearing fully after a moment, to his relief and despair.

“I’ll get you for that,” he muttered grumpily. He tilted his head up to look at the mage, who of course had an answer.

_I look forward to it, Fenris._

~ ~ ~

Both Fenris and Anders were relocated to a private room with a lovely view of the courtyard the next morning, much to the delight of the mage, who promptly pounced on the elf the minute the door closed.

“Anders,” Fenris gasped, the mage having cornered him against the wall and currently licking the warrior’s neck. “Anders-”

The mage silenced him with an enthusiastic kiss, his hands settling easily on Fenris’ hips, pulling him closer.

“No,” Fenris hissed, wrenching away, cheeks flushed. “Not here-”

Anders, a fully grown man, a hardened battle mage and a Warden, actually pouted at him.

Fenris couldn’t help the smirk at the look on the other man’s face. “Patience, carum,” he said gently, tenderly stroking the mage’s cheek. “We are being watched, and I would rather keep all of our shared delights private.”

Anders snorted, quickly kissing the elf’s fingers before backing away and then turning to plop onto the bed, spread eagled.

Fenris settled into the chair next to the bed, watching the mage shift and wriggle around the bed with some amusement. “Enjoying the lap of luxury, are we?”

Anders offered him a very content, almost cat-like smile.

The elf returned it, albeit on a much smaller scale. It fell when his eyes alighted to the bruising around the mage’s neck.

“I am sorry.”

Anders cocked his head at him, face serious now.

“I should have tried harder,” Fenris continued, hands starting to wring in on themselves. “I…failed you, my healer.”

Anders was violently shaking his head, but Fenris held up a hand calmly. “Anders,” he said softly. “I won’t fail you again. The day I fail you again is the day I die.”

His hands were suddenly encased in other, lighter hands. He looked up at the mage, uncertain at the tender expression on the other man’s face. Anders brought their joined hands up, kissing the elf’s knuckles delicately.

“Am I forgiven?”

Anders glanced up, a few strands of hair brushing across his face. 

_You never had to ask,_ he mouthed.

Fenris bowed his head, staring at their entwined hands. A thought occurred to him as he looked at his scarred skin next to Anders.

Glancing up, he warily asked, “When Justice took control…and your skin glowed and cracked…did it hurt?”

If Anders was surprised by this question, he hid it well. He simply shrugged and mouthed, _A little. More like a memory of pain from the past._

Fenris snorted. “I understand completely.”

They stayed that way, Anders on the bed with Fenris in his chair, simply holding hands. It was…comforting, Fenris realized. It was comfortable to have his mage here, in front of him, touching him, knowing that he was not dead.

Anders tugged at his hand, looking between Fenris and the large bed and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Fenris snorted. And apparently all too willing to enjoy the fact that he was still alive, he added as an after-thought.

His smile slipped and he tugged his hand away at the sound of the door unlatching. He had turned just in time to see the Commander of the Wardens enter the room, shutting and locking the door behind her.

She looked tired, he thought idly as she made herself right at home in the small room- she brought the second chair up to his healer’s bedside, plopping it down next to Fenris like they had known each other for ages, and sat herself down.

“Anders,” she greeted, ignoring Fenris (which suited him fine). “Anders, darling, you are a singularly gifted mage, particularly when it comes to finding trouble.”

Anders shrugged.

The Warden sighed, hand resting against her temple now. “You know what that religious prick called you twenty minutes ago, and not for the first time? ‘An international incident’.”

Anders puffed his chest out proudly, only to start coughing and wheezing when his commander elbowed him sharply.

“This is not funny Anders! The Wardens just returned to this country not that long ago, we don’t need political intrigue this early on in its’ infancy. I have half a mind to hand you back over to the crazy prince just because it might save me a major headache.”

“You touch him and you won’t live to see the sunset.”

Fenris refused to flinch under the cold gaze of the commander when she finally turned her gaze to him, eyes taking him in once more.

“Don’t threaten me, boy,” she growled. “Whether you like it or not, even without this ridiculous incident to sort through, Anders’ life is in my hands, and will be until he dies. I am his commander, my word is law and his life is mine.”

“You will not toss him away like garbage, _mage,_ ” Fenris hissed, hands gripping the arms of his chair tightly to keep from physically assaulting the woman next to him. “I will not have you kill this man just because-”

“I need him,” she interrupted, eyes unblinking. “I don’t use people and ‘throw them away’, elf. Unlike others present, Anders is no slave.”

“I am free,” Fenris said tightly.

“But are your chains truly broken?” the Warden asked shrewdly. “I can see it when I look at you- you have to fight yourself, remind yourself that you do not need to cower in the presence of another mage, that you don’t have to cower and scrape the ground when I deign to speak or even look at you. Just now, you had to stop yourself from standing when I entered, and you’re fighting yourself to even look at me. You, pretty man, are not free.”

Fenris had a biting reply ready when a hand landed on his knee. He jerked, his head snapping to look back at his healer.  
Anders did not try to vocalize anything, but those brown eyes of his were begging, silently, for Fenris to be silent, to let it go.

Begrudgingly, Fenris obeyed, turning his body away from the commander and instead focusing on his healer.

“I thought as much,” the commander commented, sounding unexplainably tired. “We’re leaving in three days Anders. Make sure you’re well enough to travel by then.”

When she closed the door behind her, Fenris had to stifle the startled yelp when he was abruptly and unceremoniously dragged down into the bed.

“Mage,” he grunted, trying to keep his knees from landing in a delicate spot on his healer. The other man’s wriggling and insistent tugging were making things difficult however.

“ _Anders,_ ” Fenris growled warningly. “I said not now- oh.”

The mage had pulled him down, forcing the elf to lie on top of him, and was…cuddling him.

No, not cuddling, Fenris thought hastily. This wasn’t cuddling-

A low, pained whine from his healer drew Fenris from his distracted thoughts, his eyes catching Anders’ and stilling.

For a normally verbose man who loved the sound of his own voice, Anders could manage to say quite a lot with just his facial expressions. In fact, if Fenris wasn’t misreading them, the mage was telling him several things at once.

_I’m sorry._

_Please don’t be angry._

_Touch me._

The elf shivered, shifting his weight more onto the healer, pressing his form against the other man gently. The mage seemed to take this as a good sign, if his nervous smile was anything to go by.

“I…nearly lost you,” Fenris murmured, his hand reaching out and stroking the mage’s stubble-rough cheek. “Please, forgive me for failing you.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect from the mage- a nod, a shake of the head or just…nothing. Instead, when Anders turned his face and kissed the elf’s fingers, the warrior felt some of the worry leave him. Murmuring quiet endearments in his mother tongue, Fenris planted slow, soft kisses on the mage’s face, drawing another smile from his mage.

“I should go speak to Aveline,” Fenris murmured, pulling away reluctantly. “I’ll meet you back here after sunset.”

Anders looked disappointed, but let Fenris go when he went to pull away, watching the elf walk out the door with a thoughtful expression on his face.

~ ~ ~

After a long day of scouting out the fort and a long dinner conversing with Aveline, Fenris was very tired. He strolled back towards his quarters, thoughts on what Aveline had revealed.

“I’m sorry Fenris, about Hawke,” Aveline had offered softly when they had a moment together alone in the chow line. “I wish I could say I was there and that I should have done better…but I wasn’t.”

“How? Why?”

“Hawke,” Aveline sighed, motioning at her scar. “We…headed into the Deep Roads after you were taken away. She…she attacked me and left me for dead. If it wasn’t for Anders, I would have died of Darkspawn Corruption. He got me to the Wardens, and for that, I am grateful.” She gave him a measuring look. “Why are you with him?”

“Because he is a healer,” Fenris replied, cagey.

The ginger-haired woman actually smiled. “Fenris…”

“He saved my life,” the elf admitted. “And…I may be a little…”

“Smitten? I think so. I saw the Puppy Eyes you were giving him earlier-”

“There were no Puppy Eyes!”

She had laughed, teased him for a moment more, and then had moved on with the subject.

The Commander was a harsh, but fair woman, according to Aveline. Granted, Aveline might have been biased, but Fenris had (and still did) trust her judgment of character. Apparently, the woman was in the middle of planning something big, but the only one who might know anything more about that would have been the Commander’s lover, Zevran, who was apparently waiting for them back at the Warden’s Keep.

Just what they needed, he thought bitterly as he slipped into his room. More politics and maneuvering.

He stilled, his thoughts fading away as he gazed at his healer, who was standing in front of the window…looking down at the very tree that had nearly seen him fully hung, looking sad and lost. He turned to look at the elf, something in his gaze silently pleading with the warrior.

Fenris did not speak. He came up behind the mage, cautiously pulling the larger man back against him and burying his face into the crook of the man’s neck. Anders leaned back, a soft sigh of contentment coming from him.

The elf felt a bit guilty; he had been away from his mage, and now the man seemed…something. Whatever it was, Fenris wanted to erase it, to make his mage happy and playful again.

Nuzzling the fabric away from his neck then the mage’s shoulder, the elf started to kiss and lick at the bared skin. The mage did not protest, instead tilting his head, offering the warrior more access, more skin.

Fenris continued, pausing when he neared skin that still held the tone of bruising. He shivered, a finger reverently skimming that point. Anders shivered in return, but did not move.

“I will not fail you in such a way again.”

Anders merely nodded, turning his head and kissing the elf’s finger tips, the trusting gesture drawing a hiss from the warrior.

“I…desire you, mage,” Fenris breathed. “Will you…?” he trailed off, slightly amused by Anders’ over-enthusiastic nodding.

“Hold still,” he murmured, hands searching and undoing the clasps to the healer’s robes. Slowly, with the delicacy one would use in unveiling something rare, precious, and fragile, Fenris slid the mage’s clothing off, snagging the man’s smalls on the way as well.

In the candle light, Anders stood, completely bared to the elf. His cock twitched with interest at Fenris’ appreciative gaze.

“You are beautiful, my healer,” Fenris said quietly, his fingers twisting and twining with the mage’s golden locks. Anders leaned into the touch, a very quiet coo escaping his lips.

“You…I don’t know what I would do if I lost you,” Fenris admitted, his eyes skirting away from Anders questioning brown ones. “I will not fail you again.”

A hand cupped his cheek, making him look back at Anders. The mage was smiling, gently, and Fenris lost himself as they kissed. It was a slow, languid affair, more exploration than claiming, and an equal venture for both; both men gave as much as they took. Fenris broke the kiss with a soft moan, the mage’s dexterous fingers lightly stroking his ear.

“Bed,” he growled, pulling away before the man’s stroking fingers can make a complete gibbering fool out of Fenris.

Anders cocked his head for a moment, but then nodded, seeming to understand that this was one of those times that Fenris was completely in charge, and would guide them. He plopped onto the bed, rolling over onto his back and gazing up at Fenris with curiosity and more than a fair share of want.

Fenris joined him in bed, straddling the mage’s hips and gently smacking the healer’s hands away from his hips. Getting the message, Anders held his arms above his head, clasping them together, closed his eyes and tilted his head to bare his neck, fully relaxing beneath the warrior.

Fenris stared down at Anders, eyes immediately zooming in on the bruising around his neck. Fenris swallowed hard, his hands fluttering over the other man’s chest indecisively before he gave up, sighed, and lightly tapped the mage on the chest. “Please…I can’t stand to see you with your eyes shut like that now. You may…you may watch.”

He felt amused when the mage’s eyes flew open, looking eager and excited. He watched the elf avidly as Fenris cracked his knuckles, leaned down, and began to (gently) rub the healer’s abs and chest.

Fenris knew that his hands are not made for healing, for comforting. He has the experience needed for this, but had never willingly given it to another person before. He hoped that, perhaps by doing this, the mage would feel…wanted. Needed. Cared for.

Because Fenris refused to believe that he would fail him again.

Anders’ eyes fluttered, his body shifting beneath the elf as Fenris continued his ministrations, going over every muscle and tendon with his own brand of touch. He drifted lower, starting to massage the mage’s thighs, the healer’s cock swelling excitedly.

He glanced up at Anders, smiling softly at the rapt, eager look on the other man’s face. Fenris shifted down the mage’s legs, hands moving to massage the inside of Anders’ knees, the mage unconsciously spreading his legs wider to give the elf more access. 

Cautiously, Fenris leaned down and licked the head of the mage’s cock.

Anders, mute, can still make sounds, he learned immediately. His first touch of the mage’s cock made Anders let out a breath of air, his eyes riveted and focused fully on Fenris, looking surprised.

“You…do not taste how I expected you to,” Fenris said lightly, as if he was talking about the weather. Anders blinked at him before letting his head fall back against the pillow, his chest rising and falling rapidly in silent laughter.

Fenris smirked, his hands drifting back to the mage’s knees and pushing them apart, leaving him room to work with. Without warning, he got back to work, leaning down and licking Anders’ cock, eagerly this time. He was unused to this aspect of sex, had approached the idea with dread, but now that he was doing it…

Well, it didn’t matter what he thought of it, he mused as he sucked the tip into his mouth while keeping eye contact with the mage. The looks on his healer’s face was enough incentive for Fenris to continue. He pulled more of the mage’s cock into his mouth, his tongue laving the underside of the shaft slowly, teasingly.

He noted idly that Anders was fisting the bed sheets hard, his knuckles already turning white. Fenris chuckled around his mouthful, his hand reaching down, gently stroking and massaging Anders’ balls.

That earned him a sharp thrust, the mage’s cock nearly choking him. Fenris pulled back quickly, glaring at the sheepish Anders.

“I’m going to touch more of you,” Fenris rasped. “You will control yourself, or I will stop completely. Understand?”

Anders fervent nodding was enough to ease Fenris’ irritation. Wordlessly, Fenris went back to work, sucking down the tip of Anders’ cock and alternating between sucking and licking while he stroked the mage’s testicles.

Fenris worked on the mage’s cock for several quiet moments, the only sounds in their room being the sounds of his suckling and Anders’ harsh panting that was quickening as he drew closer to release.

When he felt Anders’ balls tighten, Fenris let the mage’s cock slip from his mouth. He spit in his free hand, gripped the base of Anders, and started stroking quickly, eyes riveted to the mage’s face.

When Anders came, his hips lifting off the bed as he let out a silent wail, Fenris continued his stroking, milking the mage as long as possible. Only when he had softened and his hands weakly pushed at him did Fenris let the mage go. He looked down at the man, feeling incredibly proud at the man’s mussed hair, his cum streaked stomach and his flushed face and shining eyes.

“You are beautiful like this,” the elf murmured gently, crawling over the mage and stealing a kiss from him. The mage was quick to deepen the kiss, sending a surge of want down the elf’s spine, but Fenris pulled back.

Or tried to. Anders had a firm grip on him and a few confused and tumbled seconds later, Fenris was beneath Anders who looked eager to return the favor.

Fenris tensed, starting to breath harder, but not in arousal. “Please,” he begged, eyes beseeching. “Let me up. I can’t- not like this, I-”

Anders didn’t wait for an explanation; he simply rolled off of the elf just as easily as he had flipped them, and he curled up next to the warrior, eyes apologetic and wary.

Fenris let out a relieved breath. “I am sorry,” he offered. “I can’t…that position is too…” he trailed off when Anders tapped a finger to his lips, shaking his head before mouthing a reply.

_You don’t have to tell me._

Fenris offered him a grateful look and wrapped an arm around his healer, his hand again swatting at Anders’ wandering one.

“I don’t want you to return the favor,” he explained wearily. “I just…wanted to show my appreciation.”

He felt the mage curling his body around his, his face burying into the back of Fenris’ shirt, nodding.

“You will have to explain to me what you said at the gallows.”

The mage stilled further before he slowly wrapped an arm around the elf, moving and shifting until his hand was sprawled against Fenris’ chest- over his heart.

“Oh…”

When it was later and Anders had finally fallen asleep, Fenris untangled himself from the mage’s embrace, gathered his clothing, and silently left.

When Anders awoke to an empty bed the next morning, he too got dressed, and stormed out on a mission.


End file.
